The Returned
by LowDesert
Summary: Clark and Diana attempt to juggle the responsibilities of a young family together with those of the Justice League. Yet dark and malevolent forces are being marshaled against them. Their source will come as a shock, and the revelations it brings will stun everyone, including the Justice League. Can our heroes survive?
1. Prologue

[New story! It helps if you read my previous JL stories (or at least skim them!). New 52/AU, characters by DC Comics]

**The Returned**

**Prologue – The House of El**

On the occasion of Jon Kent's first month, his parents secured a day off from work and took a holiday to the Pacific Northwest. They flew together, with the baby secured to Diana's back by her golden lasso and Clark carrying a cooler with picnic goods, until they reached a small freshwater lake rarely visited by tourists or even hunters because of its remoteness deep in the Northern Cascades mountains. They selected a suitable site by the lakeshore, where they could enjoy the picturesque scenery and enjoy their time alone together.

Clark took off and spread his scarlet cape out on the grassy ground and quickly got a campfire going. Diana sat down, eased her breasts out of her corselet and nursed little Jon while he worked. She watched with some amusement as her husband dived into the water and returned with two large steelhead trout which he then proceeded to expertly clean, and season.

"I had no idea you were such a outdoorsy cook," she exclaimed as Clark laid the two fish side-by-side on a makeshift grill over the fire, together with some wild mushrooms and onions. The fish and vegetables smelled delicious as they roasted, mixed together with the scent of wood-smoke.

"Pa taught me how to fish, although he used a line and hook," Clark grinned as he sat next to Diana. His face softened as his eyes settled on his wife and child; it hardly seemed real to him, even now, his beautiful wife and the boy they had made together (even if it sometimes seemed Diana took full credit). He reached out and stroked the baby's fine, silky black hair. "I'll have to teach Jon some day," he added softly.

"He has your hair, and your eyes, those are definitely your eyes," Diana said as Jon nursed hungrily at her breast.

"But his face is all you," Clark added. "I can tell he'll turn all the girls' heads one day."

Diana laughed at that. "We are projecting ahead, aren't we!"

She finished nursing and readjusted her corselet, while Clark served up the food onto paper plates. For drink they had cold water from a clear-running brook nearby. It was all delicious. Afterwards they played with Jon, who gurgled happily as his parents laughed. So far, Clark thought, Jon hadn't demonstrated anything out of the ordinary…out of the ordinary for _him_. Clark knew, from his own initial medical examination of his son in the Fortress, that Jon would likely develop all his abilities and powers. Diana was concerned however that he seemed underweight.

"I was a scrawny kid too, until I hit puberty!" Clark had reassured her. "Then I really bulked up…into the handsome built man you see today." He flexed his muscles, while Diana swatted him on the arm.

"Be serious! What about what happened when we were on Themyscira? What about when you and Batman were in…that place?" She was reluctant to even mention the name.

"Well…there doesn't seem to be any lingering after-effect. Batman did his own examination of himself. He said there's nothing abnormal that he detected but he wants to be certain. He wants to examine Jon too."

"Bruce can go pound sand," Diana retorted but there was no real anger in her words. Clark knew she just wanted to protect Jon, after everything that had happened on Paradise Island: the attack of the strange Alarians, and the alien entity that had possessed and ultimately killed Steve Trevor. "Let him worry about himself, the old woman!"

That had ended that part of the conversation. Soon, as babies do when their stomachs are full, Jon grew sleepy. Diana leaned against her husband's broad chest, relaxing against him as his arms came around her and the baby, who lay drowsily on her lap. For a long while they sat still and quiet together, enjoying the simple peacefulness of being with each other, and the natural beauty of their surroundings. If only every day could be like this, Clark thought.

"You said you named Jon after the founder of your House…what was he like?" Diana asked.

"Hm. I really only know a little, all from the archives in the Fortress. Jon-El lived tens of thousands of years ago, during Krypton's great Age of Exploration, when they tried to establish colonies offworld. He was a famous scientist and explorer. He was first one to use the surname of 'El' – hope. Other than that, it's hard to know for certain. Supposedly, he either invented, or helped to invent, the World Engines, but even then he was at odds with the Science Council of Krypton because he was supposedly a bit of a rebel, like Jor-El. A family legend says that he was only allowed to maintain his House status by agreeing to the condition of artificial birth. He was the last of our House to be born in the natural way…until me."

"That's fascinating," Diana murmured, thoughtfully running her fingers along Clark's forearm. "Do you know any more?"

Clark shook his head. "Not much more than that. Whatever he did accomplish, the Kryptonians soon after abandoned space exploration and colonization forever, and stayed on their planet. That was a terrible decision, obviously."

"Why?" Diana was curious. "Why did they choose that path?"

"I don't know," Clark said slowly. "Perhaps there were reasons. The colonies failed, or they couldn't adjust away from home…but it's just another mystery to me too…"

His voice trailed off. A memory suddenly came to him, from when Randolph Carter had invaded his mind, and exchanged memories. There was something he had said…

"_A world built on stolen technology…"_

What had he meant by that? What could a human from the early 20th century have possibly known of Krypton?

"Clark?" Diana looked at him quizzically.

"Oh…it's nothing. Something Randolph Carter said to me when he was in my head-"

At the mention of his name, Clark knew he had said the wrong thing. Color and anger flooded into his wife's face at the mention of the strange human he had met in Themyscira.

"That Alarian dog!" she snarled. "I would have killed him on the spot if it weren't for Bruce, I-"

"Shhh," Clark gently squeezed her arms. "It's all over now. We're ok and Jon is ok. That's all that matters. He can't do anything to us here."

"Do you really trust Bruce?" Diana said, only slightly pacified by Clark's calming voice. "What I mean is, I know you really do, he's my friend too, but he's always been so _secretive_, hiding away in that little cave of his like a frightened little mouse..."

Clark couldn't help but laugh at the way she put it. "I'm sure he does have his secrets, not like we don't either!"

Diana scowled. "Don't laugh at me, I'm serious! I think he's hiding something he knows about that Alarian dog, I heard from Dinah that he was doing all kinds of occult research...he doesn't need-"

"What of it? He's Batman, after all," Clark said, as if that explained it all, Diana thought. He was too trusting, sometimes. "He can research whatever he wants. Not like he doesn't have the money to do it. Anyway," he playfully squeezed her again, and not her shoulders. "Let's not talk about him, we have plenty of us to talk about!"

Diana couldn't help but agree with him, when he put it that way. She would discuss it later with her husband; right now, he was being very persuasive about distracting her from unpleasantness...

But it would be a year before the subject would come up again.

* * *

**[I'm really planning for this story to be not a huge long story like the last one! But I hope you all will find it as enjoyable. There will be some returning faces (hint: no, not any Amazons), and new characters. As always, please leave your reviews! I will try to respond to all of them]**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_Orange County, California_

_One Year Later_

_"...And welcome back to the LLL, your one and only resource for the 100% REAL news! Hi, this is Lex Luthor your founder and host of the Lex Luthor Letter. Where are you calling from and what's your question, ma'am?_

_Hello, Mr. Luthor, I'm Emmy from Winnetucket, Minnesota. I just want to thank you, sir, for revealing the truth behind what's going with our govmint! Keep up the good work! We need more upstanding citizens like you!_

_Thank you for calling Emmy and your support. Next caller._

_Hey Luthor, what you got against Supes and the Justice League? They done nothing but good for us._

_Well that's your opinion and you certainly have a right to it...for now. But once these beings, these 'gods on earth' as one of our politicians described them, decide they know what's better for us than we do, people like yourself will be saying that only for your own protection! Next caller, please._

_Hi Lex, this is Dan from Margoe, Texas. I'm sick of these freaks on the news! Lemme tell ya that Superman is nothing but a damn illegal immigrant! This country don't need no more immigrants. We should deport the whole lot of them to the moon!_

_Well I wouldn't know if that's legally possible, right now, but what do you say to those who support Superman? After all, he claims to have been raised here on Earth, in fact, right here in America._

_Well, no one invited him! This country's for normal, regular folks like you and me, Lex, not those-_

_Woah! Watch the language! __That's all I have for today, thanks for listening to the LLL and if you want to keep yourself informed check out my Web site at..."_

Clark Kent forced himself to ignore the rest of the inane noise he heard all too clearly from his fellow passengers' iPods and headsets as the light-rail train carried them along the California coastline. The idea of Lex Luthor pretending to be a real 'journalist' was enough to make his blood boil, but today he was not going to let that man or his nonsensical rantings on radio and social media bother him. Today he was in a very good mood and intended to keep it that way: it was the weekend, both he and Diana weren't on-call with the League, and not only that, he had just gotten a phone call from Lois, who was currently in Spain filming a scene in her partner Tyresa Wallis' new film, _Titans Against Rome 3: The Reckoning_.

"You won't believe it, the production's been delayed again! Something about some special camera equipment not getting through customs," Lois had grumbled. "Anyway, Tyresa still hasn't filmed her scenes either, so at least we're in the same boat together. It's hot as hell here too, the food's terrible, and it's hard to get good reception where we are..."

"Gee, that's too bad, Lois," Clark had tried to sound sympathetic. "But I'll keep the office up and running while you're gone, so don't worry if you can't return."

"But what about our 'source?'" They were preparing several big stories on government corruption and illegal secret ops from information provided by a whistleblower. "I don't want him to think we dumped him, or that he's going to get found out because of us."

"Don't worry about that either, I've got it covered," Clark reassured her. "Good luck with your movie! Take as much time off as you need!" Then the connection had fortunately been lost before Lois could reply with her lengthy lists of instructions and demands.

The important thing was that the delay of the movie production meant at least one, more likely – Clark hardly dared to hope – two, TWO whole weeks of Lois' absence! Two whole weeks of not enduring Lois' temper and manic behavior and general slave-driving; she was fiercely driven to make her journalistic start-up just as a success as her book, _Among the Amazons, _had been (the less Clark recalled of the book tour the better, and if he never saw another venti triple macchiato with almond milk in his hopefully-long-life he'd be a happy man). Lois' partner, the Hollywood actress Tyresa Wallis, had also recently become extremely successful, as the lead female star of the popular _Titans Against Rome_ films. Clark read in _Variety_ magazine that Lois helped initiate Tyresa into Wonder Woman's new Amazon Society, which had led to Wonder Woman being offered a role in the third _Titans_ film (now a going franchise). Of course she would be playing an Amazon. Diana had politely turned it down (she privately told him that the script 'read like Billy Batson wrote it') and had sent it Lois' way instead, who accepted it eagerly.

Clark had only seen the first _Titans_ movie (the _300_-style violence wasn't really his thing) but he really couldn't imagine Lois in it. Lois insisted that it was only a 'minor cameo' and that she would only be in one or two scenes with maybe a few words of dialogue, if any, but she thought it would be great publicity and exposure.

"Don't be such a prude, Smallville, I'm not taking my clothes off! I'm only _really_ doing it to support the presence of more women in media. That's very important, you know. I had a meeting with the actress Geena Davis about it."

"Right, Lois."

"And a little celebrity wouldn't hurt either. I _am_ kind of out there as the figurehead of this business. I know it sounds shallow, but it is important to be photogenic. You know, you should have some high-profile projects too. Didn't you say your wife modeled? You're not a half bad-looking guy, Clark, just clean up a little, get some Lasik done so you won't have to wear the glasses all the time, and maybe she can hook you up with some magazine photo shoots. It wouldn't hurt for us to have a feature on you, and your time on Themyscira. I don't know why you won't write about it. It would be a helluva story."

"I'll think about it, Lois"

Lois eyed him carefully. "You don't have any regrets moving to California from Metropolis, do you Clark? I hope you're not missing it too much, even though Superman was your major beat."

"No, of course not, Lois."

Sometimes Clark wondered if somehow Lois hadn't cottoned on to his real identity, but she had said nothing overtly. But he suspected that she might know (he was maybe about 72% certain) but, if she knew, why was she hiding it? Was she saving it for a big surprise? Clark didn't particularly care for Lois' big surprises, but then he shoved Lois and her schemes right out of his mind as the train slowed as it reached its destination. He was almost home and wasn't going to let her ruin his mood either, today!

The light rail stopped at its terminus station, and Clark took his bike and alighted from the car into the warm, bright afternoon of southern California. Most days in southern California were in fact bright and sunny. Clark wasn't affected by Earth's weather, but he did miss the seasons. Autumn in Metropolis, winter in Smallville...he didn't know what to expect from his time here yet, but he had hope.

Clark mounted his bike and cycled the final two or three miles to the home he shared with his family, a condo in a quiet neighborhood that was only a block or so away from a crime-plagued and poor section of town. Poverty and wealth existed in uneasy proximity to one another in this place, in a way inconceivable in Metropolis, or even Gotham City. But he hadn't had a choice, really: the furnished condo belonged to Jimmy Olsen, who had graciously let them live there for several months, until he and Diana found a place of their own (he was off on a photo assignment in the Middle East). It was a bit hard-going at first, with Clark at a struggling start-up media company that wasn't exactly paying big dividends (yet), and Diana no longer had ready access to Amazon gold after Themyscira was lost.

Still, with the money they had saved up following the sale of his parents' house and Diana's London flat, they were able to afford a small, foreclosed farm in a rural town further inland from the coast. It was run-down and in much need of repair - the realtor had actually said it was once the site of a meth-producing lab but cleaned up since the previous owners went to jail. There wasn't as much acreage to it like the old Smallville place, but with some intensive work it would produce enough yield. That would be no problem for him. Clark already had plans for growing produce that his parents weren't able to in the Midwest: citrus fruits, olives and maybe even grapevines. Clark grinned at an image in his mind of Bruce scowling when he had shared his plans, wondering why he would waste his time selling $5 bags of avocados at some roadside stand when he could be doing advanced technological research instead (presumably on behalf of Wayne Enterprises). Bruce didn't seem to grasp the idea that farming was a way of keeping himself mentally anchored, or how peaceful it was to work the land and grow things from the earth. More importantly Diana agreed with him; it would be an ideal place to raise Jon.

Clark turned onto his street. He nodded at a couple of guys across the street from the apartment complex tossing a football back and forth, and they nodded back. He hadn't been here long enough to get to know many of the other neighbors. He knew there was a solitary elderly man in the apartment next to them, and another young couple a few doors down. He carried his bike up to the second floor, and as he fumbled for his key he caught a glimpse of his next-door neighbor stepping outside to get her mail, a grim-faced old Korean woman who often reminded her of Dierdre, the Getai Amazon whom he'd lived with for several disagreeable months. He smiled and waved but she glared at him as if he were a prisoner just released from parole. Sighing, he went inside.

Before he even walked in he smelled something delicious cooking - meatloaf, from one of his late mother's cherished recipes - and heard the voices of his wife and child coming from the bedroom. Eagerly, he leaned the bike against the wall and followed the noises. He leaned against the room's doorjamb for a moment, just taking in what he saw. It was a vision he never grew tired of, or took for granted.

Jon Kent, at just over one year old, was a fine and healthy child, developing (as far as his parents could tell) as normally as could be expected of a half-human/part-Divine/half-Kryptonian child. He had Clark's dark hair and cerulean-colored eyes, mixed with Diana's slight olive coloring and facial features. Diana and Clark watched carefully for signs of his potential powers, but none of them had manifested other than his robust health and resistance to sharp and blunt objects. He had only started to take his first steps a month ago, an event that was thrilling for them. As for flying, he hadn't shown any aptitude for it...yet. Neither had he appeared to suffer any adverse effects from his ordeal on Themyscira and in Carcosa, which was a relief.

"My mother told me I had trouble breathing my first few months on Earth," Clark had said, before they had moved to California. "Transitioning from a Kryptonian atmosphere to Earth's. I'm glad Jon's not bothered by it."

Diana looked a little more thoughtful. "He's still small for his age. I bought a ton of those baby books the other day. They all say different things! It's maddening...we didn't have child psychology on Themyscira."

Clark squeezed Diana's hand as it rested on the railing of Jon's crib. "Jon'll be fine. He's thriving. He won't lack for anything."

In the year since their return from Themyscira, the world had been mostly quiet. The Justice League had only death with a few tussles with terrorist gangs, rogue scientists, and a minor alien invasion, but nothing very stressful. It gave them some breathing room to grow into their new roles as parents.

Clark was a little surprised, in a good way, at how naturally the parenting had come to him. Despite the long nights when Jon cried off and on, the careful and minute observation of his health and growth, the worries any parent would have about how to ensure their child was safe and out of the public eye, and trying to work two jobs on top of all that, Clark relished and welcomed his new role. It almost felt as if he'd been like a dad all his life. It gave him a good feeling. He wanted to be as good a dad as his father, Jonathan, had been to him.

He was happy and relieved too to see Diana adjusting to motherhood equally as well, even if she had rather different...ideas about child-rearing than he had. She had decided to wean Jon early ('Amazon babies don't remain at the breast as long as others do'); she accomplished this in a day by smacking Jon when he reached for her breast and shoving a bottle filled with camel's milk in his mouth ('camel's milk is very healthy for a baby, better than that formula stuff'). Jon took to the stuff eagerly, though. Of course this meant he had to travel a bit extra to obtain it, but Diana insisted on it.

He'd also discovered that she'd introduced Jon to solid food via premastication, no doubt a common practice of premodern societies like the Amazons; it, however, scandalized some of the other League members when she did it at the Hall of Justice.

"Oh my God, what the _hell_ are you doing?" Hal had shouted when discovered Diana feeding Jon in the break room.

Diana glared at the Green Lantern as Jon contentedly ate his premasticated chicken. "What's the problem?"

"We're living in the 21st century?" Flash suggested, then quickly departed upon seeing the look in Diana's face.

"It's so gross! You can pass diseases like that! And by the way what _is_ that stuff that's in his bottle, it smells like ass - do you have to leave it in the fridge?"

"We don't have diseases!" Diana shouted back. "This is a custom of my people! Mind your own business!"

His wife's formidable temper certainly hadn't mellowed with motherhood, Clark realized. But he could see what Hal and the others didn't -that the same woman who wielded the sword with such deadly skill, who was frightening to see in her battle-frenzy, could pick up Jon so tenderly and croon to him in the night when he was crying, who sat up with him for hours without complaint when he fussed. It was a side of her only he really saw.

He saw that sight now as Diana sat with Jon on the floor of their bedroom, surrounded by a heap of toys (most of them broken). The ones that had lasted best were old-fashioned alphabet blocks made of wood, which he'd stacked around him like a little Fortress. Jon waved his chubby arms up at his mother and gurgled happily in his baby-language.

Clark couldn't help but notice that Jon held a tiny wooden sword in one hand, which he used to knock down a tower of blocks, at his mother's encouragement (she spoke to him in Themysciran sometimes, wanting him to have some of her heritage). Diana looked around as he entered.

"Look, Jon! Papa's home!"

Clark smiled as his son laughed, waving his arms harder as he saw his Pa. He seemed very attuned to his parents' emotions, they both thought. He was happy when they were, and upset if they showed it around him. He felt a swell of emotion course through him; once, he had thought something like this would be impossible for him. He had resigned himself to being the "last son" of Krypton, an alien alone in a world of humans, which was as it had to be, because of his powers. He had once, briefly, felt something for Lois, but even if she had reciprocated his feelings (she hadn't), he doubted it would have worked. It wasn't just their physiologies, their personalities were too different. And also, he was too busy with his work. Then he had met Diana, and all his fears of ending up lonely and alone ceased. Often, he could hardly believe his luck.

Diana gathered up her son in her arms and kissed him tenderly on his soft cheek as she stood up with him. "Ah what a little warrior you are already! When you are older, you will be a great warrior!"

"Does he have to be a warrior?" Clark asked, half-seriously. "Maybe he might want to be...something else?"

Diana looked at him sidelong, as she did whenever she thought he said something weird.

"Clark, he can be whatever he wants to be: I don't care if he wants to be a truck driver, fix other people's teeth, or sing opera. But first and foremost he will be a _warrior_," she plopped him firmly in his crib, although it was clear he still wanted to be carried. "He will have to be, in order to survive in this world."

"I'd rather this world be one where he didn't have to," Clark tried again. "We could find an alternative, show to people it's not necessary to be violent to change things-"

"I can tell you've been listening to Luthor's idiot show again," Diana growled; she ignored Jon's whimpers to be picked up again. "You shouldn't listen to that little worm, he's just trying to make another name for himself. He's full of hot air, trying to poison people against you. People _know_ what you do for them."

"I know that, it's just-" he stopped.

"What is it?"

"It's just...such a hard life we lead sometimes," Clark finished. "Sometimes I feel like we'll never stop fighting. I wonder what kind of world Jon will grow up into."

Diana crossed the room and took Clark into her arms, squeezing him. "It'll be a world in which we've done our best to make it better," she assured him. "Why are you so pensive today?" Her eyes narrowed. "Did Lois give you a hard time at work? If so, I'll-"

"No, she's still in Spain," Clark replied. "Actually, she'll be gone for another week at least!"

Diana laughed. "Then that's good news! You have no reason to be unhappy!"

Clark smiled at her merriment. He put aside his concerns over his son learning aggression too early, which had been his real concern; it was something he could talk to Diana later about. Now, she looked so good pressed up against him. He felt a familiar stirring in his body.

He reached down and squeezed Diana's right buttcheek. Whenever he did this it triggered what he liked to think of as her giggle reflex, which is why he liked to do it. Any other man who would have tried that would be pulling back a stump. She pressed himself against him.

"No, Clark," she giggled. "Dinner's almost ready," she looked up at him with mock-indignation. "I want a rematch. It's time for you to start cooking again!"

The smell of Martha Kent's Homestyle Meatloaf was a reminder to Diana of how she had lost her last sparring bout with her husband. She remembered their epic duel over the Siberian forest and how, somehow, he had managed to entangle her in her own lasso (a technique she suspected that Batman had somehow taught him). They had fallen through the trees and onto a rocky plateau. She had landed awkwardly on the ground, and tried to roll back into a fighting position, freeing herself from the lasso, but then Clark had tackled her, pinning her facedown on the edge of a granite shelf; she reached behind her to try to push him off, and felt his hot abdomen beneath her palm instead of his armor. Immediately, she had known what would come next.

"You think you have beaten, me, man?" Diana had snarled. "Fool!"

"Yes!" Clark breathed in her ear as he forced her legs apart. "Just admit you lost this time!"

"I will never admit defeat!" Diana gave a mighty heave, but to no avail, she was bent beneath him 90 degrees. Her outstretched hands gripped the smooth edges of the rock; she gritted her teeth and braced herself for the inevitable. "Take your pleasure, but know I am still unconquered!"

Clark's hands paused in the act of pulling off her corselet. "If I make you admit defeat," he said. "Will you...cook my favorite dinners for...a month?"

"Hah! Not this Amazon! That will never happen!"

His hands grasped her bared breasts then. "We'll see!"

The end result was that culinary horror in the oven, thought Diana, something that consisted mainly of crushed-up Saltines, Heinz Ketchup, and what she could only charitably think of as mystery meat. Inexplicably, Clark loved it.

"A rematch? Hmm..." he nibbled at her earlobes. "I'll have to think about it."

"Think fast, Kryptonian," Diana muttered. "Or the meatloaf's going to burn."

"But I just can't decide, which should I do first?" Clark whispered in her ear mischievously. "Eat dinner…or maybe you instead?"

Diana giggled again.

"Well...the meatloaf's no big loss..." Diana grinned at her husband. No matter what, she couldn't stay irritated at him, no matter what he did or said. She pulled his head closer...

"I guess I've made my choice..." Clark bent his lips to her neck.

_Ding-dong!_

Diana scowled at the door. "Ugh. I thought you said Lois was still in Spain?" Lois had a tendency to call or show up unannounced, at all times of the day and night, whenever she thought she had a particularly important scoop.

Clark glanced at the door. "Um...it's not Lois, it's the police."

Diana quickly broke away and protectively swept up Jon from his crib, as if there were a horde of parademons outside. When did she get so paranoid of police, Clark wondered? Bruce had told him he thought Diana had been in touch with Selina Kyle, something that the Dark Knight had not cared for.

"What do they want?" Diana glanced at the window, half-expecting to see an army battalion outside, but there was nothing there except a solitary squad car.

"Well, we'll find out," Clark said calmly as he went to the door. He had already scanned the outside of their apartment. "No one else is out there. I'm sure it's nothing."

Clark opened the door to reveal two police officers, a small and skinny Latina lady (her name tag read HERNANDEZ) and her partner, a much bigger, balding African-American man, possibly her senior (McALISTER).

"Hello, we're from the Sherrif's Department. Are you Mr. Clark Kent?" The female officer asked.

"Yes?" Clark answered politely. He could sense Diana hovering behind him.

"Mr. Kent, we need you to accompany us back to our station. We have some questions that need to be answered."

_To be continued…_

* * *

**[Uh oh, busted! But for what? To find out what trouble Clark is in this time, read on to the next chapter, where more – or not – will be revealed! As always, your reviews are welcomed!]**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Taken aback, Clark stared at the two police officers, trying to think of any reason for why the local authorities wanted him. Could it have something to do with the whistleblower he and Lois knew? He thought he and Lois had been very careful about that. Or, perhaps some shadowy government organization was finally making its attempt to capture Superman - had they found out his actual identity? Thoughts of Amanda Waller and her demonstrated untrustworthiness came to mind, but he - as well as the rest of the Justice League - had been very careful about that too. But as far as he could see there were no hidden military vehicles or aircraft in the vicinity, and he could tell from the respiratory rates and heart rates of the cops in front of him that they weren't stressed at all, as might be expected of someone trying to capture an alien or a metahuman; their manner suggested this was just another routine job for them.

"But why?" Clark asked as the police entered his apartment. "What have I done?"

"Sir, your questions can be answered at the station. We're only here to make sure you arrive at the station safely."

"No!" Diana suddenly blurted out. She sounded just as puzzled as he, but angrier. "I want to know why you want Clark! What has he done?"

Officer Hernandez turned already-weary eyes to the indignant Amazon. "Ma'am, this is a matter concerning only Mr. Kent-"

"I'm his wife! You're not arresting him for no reason!"

The other officer spoke. "He's not under arrest, we're requesting that he answer some questions for the Sheriff's Department."

"What questions?!"

Jon, who had been quiet and half-asleep until Diana picked him up, began fidgeting uncomfortably in his mother's arms, whimpering in confusion at the strange noises.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Diana," Clark said, trying to calm her down, but he saw the flash of anger in his wife's eyes and realized that this situation would escalate to a very unpleasant level if he didn't try to defuse it right away.

"Clark, you're not going anywhere with them!" Diana's accent was definitely noticeable by now, not a good sign.

Hernandez spoke up, looking aggravated now. "Ma'am, this is not up for discussion. We need to bring Mr. Kent back to our district station. You can pick him up there when Mr. Kent is done satisfying our questions."

"Diana," Clark interrupted. "I'm sure this is all a mistake, I'll get this straightened this out at the station, and you can pick me up later, like they said," he glanced at the officers. "Right?"

"Clark, I _can't_ pick you up because the car is in the shop, remember?" Diana began bouncing Jon in her arms as his whimpers turned into cries. "It's been there for two days, now! Anyway, you're not going anywhere until _they_ tell me why!"

The cop named McAlister then clearly decided that the best strategy was to ignore Diana completely. He turned to Clark.

"Sir, we need you to come with us _now_. Put your hands behind your head, please."

"What? But…" Clark protested even as he instinctively complied. Diana stared in complete dismay as her husband let himself be handcuffed by the female officer. Little Jon began wailing, sensing the rage and distress that practically radiated from his mother.

"What are you doing to him? There's no need to cuff him like a dog!"

"This is only for his protection and ours, Ma'am," Hernandez said, as calmly as possible. "This is procedure whenever we encounter resistance."

"I'm not resisting," Clark insisted. "This isn't necessary."

"I'm aware of your concerns, Sir, but your spouse is-"

"A thousand Furies!" Diana bellowed in barely coherent English, her voice almost as loud as Jon's. "Get your hands off my husband!"

"Diana, calm down!"

The two officers, as quick as they could manage, escorted Clark outside the apartment. Diana followed close behind, venting various English and Themysciran epithets in a voice that could be heard all over the street.

Clark felt himself being hustled to the officers' black-and-white; he saw that some of the neighbors were peeking outside their windows at the commotion, even the old Korean lady, unfortunately. The two guys across the street had stopped tossing their football to watch the drama. Jon was now howling at the top of his small but prodigious lungs, as Diana followed them out, still arguing.

_Just great._

"There's no reason for you to take him! Whose order is this? Who are you really working for?

"Ma'am, please step back and let us do our jobs…."

"You have no right to take him away like this from his home and family!"

"Ma'am…"

"Don't 'ma'am' me! I want a damned good reason-"

Clark could see the expression on the female officer's face become one of distinctly high-pissoff. It practically shouted out: _Bitch, if you didn't have that baby I'd taze you in a heartbeat! _

"Diana, I'll be fine! Go back inside!" Clark pleaded. She glared at him, as if he was secretly in on this. What the hell did she expect him to do? Fly off? Send these cops flying halfway to LA? Sometimes she didn't exactly think very clearly.

Diana vented more curses as McAlister opened the rear door and pushed Clark in, a hand on his head. This time she shouted to Clark:

"They can't get away with this! I'm-I'm going to call Bruce!"

"No! Don't call Bruce!" Clark shouted as the door slammed in his face.

Hernandez and McAlister quickly got into their vehicle, exchanging knowing looks that said, _Well, this is why we get paid the big bucks._

Clark twisted around in the back seat, watching Diana as the car pulled away from the curb and she faded into the distance. He heard her shout at the neighbors:

"What in Hades are you all looking at? Go back inside your homes!" She stomped off back into their condo, slamming the door behind her, with Jon still crying on her shoulders.

"I'm sure we'll have this all cleared up and you can return home," the male officer said half-apologetically. His companion seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

Clark was only listening out for his wife, if she was really going to call Bruce Wayne. He didn't hear her voice, but he could hear the neighbors all too clearly talking about this little episode:

"I wonder what all that was about?"

"I bet she was the one who called the cops...sick wife-beater! And she's got a kid too!"

"I knew they were just jumped-up trailer trash…and this used to be such a nice neighborhood!"

"You wouldn't think something like that could happen here!"

The sound of a dial tone, then: "Where's Kyung-hee? Where's my daughter?" The Korean lady.

"She's at her spin class, ma, what's up?" An Italian-accented voice.

"I want you to get me new apartment. This one no good! A thug lives next door! Police come! Take him away!"

"Ma, we talked about this before, it's a nice place! I'm sure it was a one-time thing, besides…"

"Yeah, with gangbanger right next door! You tell my daughter get me new place, or I move in with you!"

"Come on, ma, you know we don't have the room…"

"So why do you think she called the cops?" One of the football guys.

"She probably found his stash of gay porn in the closet." Snorting.

"You think? Too bad, she's a real nice-looking lady. Maybe I should pay her a visit later, see if she's up for some hot revenge sex." Crude laughter.

"Nah, you don't wanna mess with some hoe who calls the cops on a dude. Dude comes back from a hard day at work, she got all up in his face 'bout sum bullshit, and he prob'ly shoved her to get her offfa his ass, so she calls up the cops. Then whaddya know, the wife fights the cops! They always go back. Rinse and repeat. My cousin was a cop, he hated doing them domestic violence calls. Same thing all the time, what canya do. C'mon, let's go get something to eat…"

Glumly, Clark slumped down in his seat, and hoped all this would be over soon, like McAlister said.

* * *

After the police had left, Diana paced in impotent fury about the apartment, trying to calm herself and at the same time trying to get Jon to settle down, since he was still bawling at the top of his lungs. She was furious, not only at the authorities for dragging Clark away, but partly at Clark himself for just passively going along with them. She knew, rationally, that he could hardly do anything else – what could he have done, just flown away and revealed his true identity? Yet it rankled, because he seemed so helpless and vulnerable, and it wasn't the first time she had seen him not put up a fight. But really, most of her anger was directed at herself, for getting angry in the first place. It probably hadn't helped matters. She'd just made things more difficult for Clark. She knew she had a quick temper, was quick to anger. It was something she would have to work on, especially for Jon's sake. He was more sensitive than perhaps she and Clark originally thought.

Finally, a half hour later when Jon's wails had subsided to gasping hitches for breath, and he cried himself out, Diana felt calmer. But she was going to call Bruce anyway.

She sat down in front of her and Clark's computer, Jon lying tiredly in her arms. After what seemed like an interminable delay as the connection went through, Bruce's image appeared on the screen. He was dressed in a dark (no doubt expensive) business suit, and sat with his profile to her; his attention was focused on another screen which occupied his full attention.

"Diana," Bruce said in a perfunctory voice, not turning his eyes from his laptop. "What is it?"

"It's Kal...Clark...he's been arrested! The police came to our apartment just now…" she gave him a quick synopsis of the past hour.

"Is that so. Do you need bail money?"

Bruce's voice and manner were totally unconcerned. Diana felt her anger start its not-so-gradual ascent again.

"Bruce! Did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, Diana, I heard you quite well. There's no cause for alarm if it's just a local matter. You said only two cops came for him, not federal agents. I'm sure he'll get a fair hearing."

Before she could retort, someone outside the visual range of the webcam handed a sheaf of papers to Bruce.

("The medical reports you requested, Master Bruce.

Thank you, Alfred.

Is there anything else you require, Master Bruce?

No, Alfred, that will be all.

"Very good, sir.")

Diana steamed impatiently. "Bruce, I don't like this. You think I don't know what that Waller woman at A.R.G.U.S. is up to? Do you think she would be dumb enough to send an army division against Superman? No, she'll do it sneakily, picking him, and us, off one by one-"

"That's highly unlikely," Bruce continued to work on whatever he was working on, his long, nimble fingers flying over the keyboard. "I would know if something like that was in the works. More likely it's that whistleblower case he and Lois Lane are working on, and his journalist side bit off more than he could chew."

Diana glared at Bruce as if she could strangle him through the camera. But possibly it was true what he was saying. Then she remembered that this whistleblower had dug up some dirt not only on the nefarious dealings of the government but also on several major corporations, whose systems he'd allegedly hacked into. Maybe he had something on Wayne Enterprises, which would account for Bruce's pissy mood.

"Never mind! I'll take care of Clark, as usual! Go make another one billion."

For the first time, Bruce looked directly at the Web cam, frowning. "Dia-"

Diana cut him off as she pushed the laptop cover down sharply. She sat still for a moment, feeling utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Clark wouldn't want her showing up at the station, she suspected that it would embarrass him. Not that she hadn't embarrassed him enough outside, she thought ruefully.

Jon hiccuped against her shoulder and she patted him gently on his little back. She hated this helpless feeling, like a wife wondering what had become of her man. Well, that was what she was now, and she had to accept it. But she wouldn't accept being helpless. Talking to Bruce hadn't helped at all. Maybe someone else would do. She opened the laptop again and typed some more. She knew who was working alone at the Watchtower.

Soon, Dinah's face came out the screen, and she immediately she noticed something was wrong with her colleague.

"Diana! What is it? What's happened?"

"It's Kal," Suddenly Diana felt her eyes water, oddly she felt like crying, but it was just the frustration coming out. At least Dinah, unlike Bruce, would listen to her. "He-"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Dinah said sympathetically, quickly jumping to the wrong conclusion. "They're ALL bastards, Diana!"

"No, no, it's not that! It's something else..."

The two women talked for awhile, and it was true, Diana later felt infinitely better.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the station, Clark sat alone in a nondescript interview room.

He had arrived half-expecting to find a battalion of police and military awaiting him; perhaps Diana _was_ right and it was all a ruse to get them separated. But nothing like that had happened. It was actually all very professional and formal. Hernandez and McAlister had taken the cuffs off as soon as they arrived, and then he was at the front desk, confirming his identity and signing some forms (just in case he later made allegations of police brutality, no doubt). No one else in the station paid any attention to him; in fact, it hardly seemed busy at all, just a few cops and civilian administrative employees going about their business. One or two clearly inebriated or high prisoners were brought in, and led away elsewhere.

He thought he would go with them but they steered him away from the temporary lockups, and led him to a room furnished with only two chairs, a long table between them, and a one-way mirror on one wall. They had even offered him a cup of coffee, which he accepted although he didn't feel like drinking it.

Then they told him "someone would be with him shortly." The cops left him alone in the room.

That was nearly an hour ago, and no one had shown up. He could see through the one-way mirror of course; no one was observing him and he couldn't hear anyone discussing him. Throughout the station people were coming and going, typing up reports, gossiping in the break room, and so on. It was like they had forgotten him.

Sighing, Clark still hoped he would get out of here soon. Maybe this was all a case of mistaken identity. He wondered again if it could have anything to do with the whistleblower he and Lois were in secret communication with, but they'd been very careful to preserve his confidentiality and he couldn't imagine how anyone might have discovered their connection. Anyway, reporting a story was not a crime, as far as he knew...at least not yet. But maybe this was some kind of intimidation. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to scare him off a story. If so, they had another thing coming. They (whoever 'they' were) would soon discover he wasn't the mild-mannered, passive man people mistakenly thought he was.

His thoughts turned to Diana. He hoped she hadn't called Bruce, but he knew she likely had. She would probably be upset when he returned home...they would have to talk about...

Suddenly the door opened and Clark looked up, thinking it would be another police officer or maybe a detective. But the tall, square-built man who came through the door was someone he absolutely didn't expect, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

It was General Sam Lane.

_To be continued._

**[A/N: I know in New 52 Sam Lane became a senator but in this fic he's still in the Army, which will fit better with the subsequent events of the story. What does he want with Clark? Has he discovered Superman's secret? Tune in next chapter to find out! As always, your reviews are welcomed!]**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Wayne Manor, Outskirts of Gotham City_

Annoyed at being cut off abruptly by Wonder Woman (he was not a man used to being hung up on), Bruce Wayne tried to get her back online, but her computer wasn't responding; he suspected she was either busy or was deliberately ignoring him. Fine, he thought, bail Clark out on your own!

It was actually wrong of Diana to think that Bruce was totally indifferent to Clark's problems. Nothing concerning the lives of any member of the Justice League, no matter how seemingly trivial or inconsequential, escaped his attention. When Clark's human parents perished in that car accident nearly two years ago, Bruce had conducted his own painstakingly thorough investigation to determine whether it was due to malign intent by an enemy, human or otherwise, but he had reached the same conclusion as the local investigators: only a case of drunk-driving on the part of the big-rig driver who hit the elder Kents, and who had died also. It was a tragedy, but unfortunately a commonplace one. Clark's latest trouble would not be overlooked by him for the same reason.

Sitting in his high-backed leather executive's chair, Bruce considered the timing of this event. There had been a spike in unusual "chatter" along American military channels in the past two weeks. It aroused his curiosity, though at the moment not his alarm, although he couldn't yet determine its cause. The Justice League and the armed forces of most First World countries, including the United States, had come to a peaceful, if somewhat uneasy, understanding with one another. The Justice League would not interfere (usually) in the internal and domestic affairs of United Nation members, and in return they would not send their soldiers to hunt down and "eliminate with extreme prejudice" the Justice League. In addition there was an unwritten agreement that the League would conduct its own independent operations in the event of natural disasters and "extraordinary circumstances."

However, Bruce Wayne knew this agreement wouldn't last. One day, the world governments (or the puppet-handlers behind the scenes) would decide the Justice League had become too big and powerful, an obstacle, and then the hammer would fall. Bruce had already prepared contingencies for this event. The only question was when, and how.

Bruce knew that his friend Kal-El didn't share his views, that he thought he was just being "paranoid" and being, well, Batman. Superman was certain, with his unique sense of American optimism, that people would 'come round' to see them as benevolent helpers rather than a threat.

"Do you know, Clark," Bruce had remarked dispassionately after he told him that. "That sales of lead sheeting have risen dramatically in the past five years? I should know, Wayne Enterprises sells them. The biggest buyer is the military.

They are installing lead shields in all their major bases, particularly around certain installations, like command centers and testing laboratories. So _you_ can't know what's going on inside."

Clark looked troubled, but he only said. "Why not? I can understand if they're afraid right now. But we can show them there's nothing to be afraid of."

They had let it drop at that. Bruce had other matters to deal with, on top of the crime problems in Gotham City during his months-long absence; of course, many had taken advantage to create havoc. It had taken him almost a year to suppress these new gangsters, who were growing increasingly ruthless and violent. It was only recently that he could turn his attention back to his discoveries following the extraordinary events on Themyscira.

Revelations he had not yet fully shared with the Justice League.

Bruce was well-versed on the life of his cousin, Randolph Carter. Carter had been an explorer, and an eccentric, who had written fantastic tales of his adventures cloaked under the guise of pulp fantasy stories, a genre popular in the twenties and thirties. Many members of their extended family, including the Waynes, had considered him a bit of a nutter, although harmless. He had vanished one day in 1928 and it was assumed he had thrown himself into the Misktaonic River and drowned; his body was never recovered. But Bruce had learned what had really happened. Somehow, Carter had crossed over into another parallel dimension, a place he called the "Dreamlands." Bruce had found him after trying to find an alternate route to Themyscira. He had found his cousin still alive, seemingly unchanged after the passing of decades, ruling a mysterious ancient city called Alar.

The inhabitants had appeared human...almost. It also seemed that Carter was not quite the same person he once was; in addition to the immortality, he had developed quite strange...abilities. Bruce hadn't yet pieced it all together. But one thing he was certain - there were powerful alien entities out there, indifferent to the presence of humanity on Earth at best, and malevolent at worst . One of them had nearly destroyed Themyscira, and nearly entered Earth's dimension, but the gate - if that was what it was - had closed in time, but not before causing worldwide chaos. Although the alien, whatever it was (Zatanna had called it _Hastur_) never arrived on Earth, it had created lingering psychic aftershocks, or so J'onn J'onzz reported.

"Just like the smaller tremors following a big earthquake," J'onzz had explained. "They cannot be felt by most people, except those who are sensitive to them. Like me."

"Are they still happening?"

"No, they have ceased now, I think. Yet they may still frighten those who do not know what they felt."

Arkham Asylum was one place where he had observed those aftershocks at first hand. Half the crazed inmates had become catatonic, the other half manic, their speech and behavior wild and incoherent. Even the Joker, he'd learned, had become totally lucid during the period the Black Stars had been ascendent. According to his doctors he had talked rationally (Batman could hardly imagine that) and didn't understand who he was or where he was. But once the sky returned to normal, he had returned to his usual catatonic state, except of course, for his occasional homicidal ideations.

Interesting.

He had asked Zatanna for her help, but she had been reluctant to divulge more than she had following their return from Themyscira.

"I need to know what we're up against," Bruce insisted. "Green Lantern says the Guardians won't talk to him about such things, so he's in the dark too. I don't like that."

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Zatanna said. The usually perky magician seemed uncharacteristically subdued as of late. She'd taken a "hiatus" from her Las Vegas shows. "You don't need to know anymore than you already do."

"I'm not one who believes ignorance is bliss," Batman retorted. "I want to know what you do. We don't keep secrets from each other in the League."

"You have _plenty_ of secrets yourself, Mr. Wayne," Zatanna replied. "I'm sorry but I can't tell you anything more. If I were you, I'd just forget it...and get rid of those books in your library, for your own good."

Zatanna then had taken a leave of absence from the Justice League, without approval, but evidently she didn't care. She didn't tell anyone where she was going, although Bruce had a good hunch she was in England. He hadn't heard from her in over two months. Probably shacking up with that lout Constantine, he thought sourly.

Anyway, he found he preferred to do research alone. When he was ready, he would present his findings, but not until they were complete.

At first he wasn't sure where to begin. He knew more than he wanted to about Carter's 'friend,' the ghoul Pickman. He would save research about him for later. But he had recently discovered a clue regarding the man Carter called his Vizier, by hints he had picked up in Alar, and what Titus had told him himself. He knew the man was British, or had once lived in the isles, and like Carter, he had come from Earth to the Dreamlands, although not at the same time...perhaps a few decades later. Who had he been?

He scrolled down the images on his screen: a selection of old publications from the 1970s digitized and made available online. Once, their original paper versions had proliferated decades ago in newsstands, and were popular among those who subscribed to the reality of UFO abductions, paranormal activities, and other such nonsense. Bruce had done a simple name search, the result being that he had found the March 1975 edition of _UFO WATCH: UK, _a short-lived newsletter whose counterculture editors leaned towards the conspiratorial as a way of explaining contemporary events.

This particular issue was dedicated to the history of a British consortium called the Experimental Rocket Group (ERG). It was a quasi-military collection of engineers, scientists, and astronomers, dedicated to the development of manned orbital space flight. It was active from 1951-1965, under the auspices of the Ministry of Defense. Many members had circulated through the ERG, although a core of supervisory members remained constant, including its founder, Dr. Bernard Quatermass. There was a black-and-white photo included, of several men in a laboratory:

_Members of the Experimental Rocket Group, circa 1963. From left to right: Arthur Galpin, Rhinehart Kleiner, Michel Grant, William Moncke, Titus Crow, Bernard Quartermass._

The man sitting next to Dr. Quatermass was younger than the man he'd met in Alar, his beard was cut differently, and his dress was reflective of the styles of the Swinging Sixities, but it was unmistakably him. Carter's Vizier Titus. Without doubt.

Professor Quatermass was the head of the ERG until 1964, when he, along with several other members, were killed in an explosion believed to have been caused by improperly stored or handled rocket fuel in an aerospace facility. Titus Crow was included in the casualty list. Soon afterwards, the ERG was disbanded. No mention as to where the surviving members went. The author of this article was of the opinion that the explosion was no accident, and that the ERG's true purpose was to prevent alien invasions of Earth.

The writer's terrible prose and misspellings irritated Bruce but he continued to read the rest of the newsletter. There was nothing else of much use, other than more wild ramblings that the ERG had discovered alien lifeforms on Earth, had in fact thwarted an alien invasion, and that world governments were in possession of alien technology. Apparently Dr. Quatermass and several of his colleagues attempted to warn others of this threat, which was why they were eliminated, and everything covered up in the highest levels of government. The rest of the ERG had, of course, denied these accusations, which the author believed was only to save their skins. None of them would speak to the author, nor to any other member of the press.

Another search of the remaining ERG members' names over the following decades showed that most of them were by now deceased. However, he could not locate obituaries for Michel Grant or William Moncke.

Bruce decided he would track down those members.

Just then, Alfred came back in with a silver tray containing a soup tureen and a carafe.

"Your dinner, Master Bruce."

"Oh, is it dinnertime already?"

"Indeed, Sir. You have been cooped up in here all day. I trust all is well?"

"I think so," Bruce picked up the papers Alfred had handed him earlier, as Alfred ladled the steaming lobster bisque into a bowl.

"I trust Miss Diana is well? She sounded quite distressed earlier."

"Oh…did she? I'm sure it's nothing. 'Miss Diana' gets worked up over nothing, quite often."

"Have you examined the EKG scans?" Alfred referred to the papers Bruce was still holding. "As you see, they are quite normal. No abnormalities in your sleep patterns, Sir."

"Hmm," Bruce rubbed his chin, ignoring the soup and rolls Alfred placed before him.

"You were expecting to find something…else?"

"I haven't dreamed, Alfred," Bruce said bluntly. "Of my parents. Not for months, now."

Ever since the fateful night that had made him whom he was, at least once a week (sometimes two or three times a week or more if he was under stress) Bruce dreamed of his parents' murder. In the dream he was a little boy again, watching helplessly as the thief shot his mother and father. Or it was like he was an observer of his own life, watching but equally helpless. Those dreams were the worst. Every time he had the dream he would wake up in a cold sweat, if they had been particularly vivid he would wake up screaming.

"Surely…that is a good development, Master Bruce?"

"I don't know," Bruce said quietly. "You see, I don't dream…of anything now. Sometimes I dream of a mist, or fog…or maybe it's nothing at all. But I feel that there's something past that, something…tangible."

Bruce didn't say it almost felt like someone, or something, was there beyond the mist. Something calling out to him…

_Focus! Concentrate!_

To tell him that he could almost see beyond the wall of sleep if he tried…

Alfred poured out a cup of milk for him. "I, for one, am relieved that you are no longer suffering from such debilitating dreams, Master Bruce. Perhaps you are finally beginning to heal, I daresay. In any case, you can see for yourself that you are having normal REM sleep. That's healthy, and vital for human beings. I do recall reading an article regarding the late pop musician Michael Jackson, that he suffered a lack of REM sleep in the weeks prior to his untimely death, which contributed vastly to his poor health…

"Yes, thank you Alfred," Bruce said abruptly, pulling his soup bowl to him. "That will be all."

"Yes, Sir. Oh, one more thing, Master Bruce. That young lady, Mistress Zatanna Zatara (I believe that's a stage name, if I do say so), has requested an appointment with you."

"Has she?" Bruce looked up, surprised. "I thought she was out of the country."

"Indeed she was, but I believe she has only recently returned. She has been most insistent on seeing you as soon as possible, Sir."

Bruce was silent a moment. "I suppose I'll have to see her then," he finally said. "Let her know I'll be in touch with her. When I'm ready."

* * *

_Orange County_

_Interrogation Room, District Station 284_

Clark stared at the imposing military man who'd entered the room alone and shut the door firmly behind him. The last time he had seen him was at a Thanksgiving dinner a couple of years ago at Lois' parents' house. That occasion had been unpleasant enough, almost as bad as the time before that when he'd seen him – when he was torturing him in a secret military facility. Clark hadn't forgotten that...or that he was responsible for his capture. Why he was here right now stunned him...how had he found out...?

He found that he was gripping the edge of the table, one the verge of warping it. He forced himself to relax. He had to find out if Lane knew or not.

"Clark," Sam said mildly. "This must be a surprise to you."

"I-I don't understand," Clark finally forced himself to say something. "Why are you here? Has-has something happened to Lois?"

General Lane frowned sightly at the mention of his daughter by this milquetoast, as he considered Kent. He'd disapproved of most of Lois' friends (in fact, her career choices, her hobbies, etc.), and Kent was no different. He'd disliked Kent from the moment he laid eyes on him, when she'd brought him home for dinner. Lane knew he would be the type of wimpy liberal guy Lois liked (or not liked anymore, now she was a lesbian or something).

It has been no problem to get the sheriff here to bring Clark in, the man was an old West Point classmate.

"We can say he's a 'person of interest', but we can't hold him, unless we have cause."

"No I just need to talk to him. It's a confidential military matter, I'm sure you'll understand."

"Sure do. We'll bring him in, no problem. Anything else you need from us, Sam?"

Sam Lane was tempted to say, resisting arrest and a responding hail of bullets wouldn't be too bad. He disliked Kent for another reason. Lane prided himself on knowing men, he'd been in the military thirty years. There was something very secretive about Kent, he'd decided, something he was concealing, although Lane couldn't quite pin it down, and that irritated him like hell. He couldn't shake the thought that somehow Kent influenced his daughter in a bad way, and his protective dad's mind ran wild with all sorts of what 'bad way' could be. His wife, Ellen, however, hadn't agreed with him at all and thought Clark would have been an ideal son-in-law. The thought of it made Sam Lane shudder.

"No, this isn't about Lois," General Lane said curtly. "This involves only you."

Clark tensed. He wouldn't let himself be captured and subjected to torture again. His mind suddenly flew to Diana and the baby and a bolt of fear shot through him: was this really a ruse to distract him, separate him from his family? He listened out but he heard nothing from his home.

The apprehension must have showed in his face. "You're not in trouble, Clark," Lane said. "Relax."

"'Relax?'" Anger suddenly flooded through Clark. "I was taken away in handcuffs in front of my family, everyone!"

_Gee, I'm so sorry, should I send out an aide to buy you a box of tampons? _General Lane bit down on his impulse; he couldn't talk to Kent like he was one of his junior enlisted soldiers. He needed the man's cooperation for this project.

"I...apologize for that," Lane replied in a different tone of voice. "But I needed to talk to you right away, in a secure environment."

Clark did relax - but only a little bit. "What is this about?"

Lane asked: "What do you know of David Kent?"

For a moment, Clark was completely blank. It took him a moment before he could answer.

"David Kent? He was...my dad's brother. All I knew was that he died before I was born."

"Did you know he was in the Army?"

Clark nodded, "I did. He died in Vietnam."

His mind went back to a memory of when he was what, nine or ten?

_Pa was outside barbecuing, since the day was nice the first warm day of spring They were having hot dogs and chicken wings. Ma was setting up the picnic table outside. Pa had forgotten his apron, and sent Clark back to the house to fetch it from the dresser drawer in his bedroom. Clark ran upstairs, before realizing he didn't know which drawer it was; he knew about his 'x-ray' vision by then, but rarely used it. Instead he simply chose the bottommost drawer and yanked. The drawer flew free, surprising him - he also hadn't yet completely learned to regulate his strength. He'd toppled backwards in surprise._

_The apron wasn't in the drawer. It contained a collection of miscellaneous stuff. Handkerchiefs, extra buttons, and a photo scrapbook, one he had never seen before. Clark was a curious boy. He picked it up, and began looking through it._

_Black and white photographs pasted inside, most of them of the same man, dressed in Army uniforms; he was tough-looking, with light crewcut hair. In the pictures he was posing with his rifle, or with other soldiers. The backdrops were of military bases, a few showed a jungle backdrop. Clark thought he looked like Pa, but older, and smiled less. A real soldier. There was only one photo that was different from the others. An elderly man with his arms around two children, standing against the barn, the same barn on his Pa's land. He knew this must be grandpa, and the other boy was Jonathan Kent._

_Like most boys, Clark was fascinated by military stuff. He eagerly leafed through the rest of the scrapbook. Citations for medals, gallantry in combat..._

_"What are you doing?"_

_The voice was loud and sharp and Clark jumped, the scrapbook falling from his lap._

_"Nothing! I mean, I-"_

_Jonathan Kent stepped in to the room, looking grim._

_"You were supposed to fetch my apron., Clark."_

_"I'm sorry Pa, I found this scrapbook, and I forgot all about it. I'm really sorry..."_

_His Pa snatched the scrapbook away from him, and Clark's face fell, crestfallen. Jonathan's anger dissipated._

_"I'm sorry, boy, I didn't mean to snap at you. I just...haven't seen this book for a long time. I thought I put it in the attic with the other stuff..."_

_"Who's the man in the book, Pa?"_

_"This is your uncle...my brother David."_

_Clark thought he would take the book away and order him back outside, but his father sat next to him on the bedroom floor instead. He opened the scrapbook. It fell on a picture of a man in full dress uniform, wearing a green beret, his chest lined with medals and ribbons._

_"I didn't know, I mean...I didn't know you had a brother."_

_"He died, a long time before you were born. He was in the Army, as you can see."_

_"Yeah, look at all these medals! He was a war hero?" Clark was young then. He was excited at the idea there might be a war hero in the family. But something in his father's face didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. __"How come you never talked about him?"_

_"Do you know what MIA means, Clark?"_

_"No, Pa." _

_"It means Missing in Action. David went missing, and was presumed killed. We...we never got his body back." _

_Clark saw his father's subdued face. "Is that why you never talk about him?"_

_"Well...yes. The news nearly killed Grandpa. We had a memorial service at the church anyway. But the real reason...well, your brother and I never got on, I guess you could say...we fought all the time..."_

_"Was he a bully? Like Pete Ross?"_

_Jonathan smiled a little. "Yeah, a little bit like that."_

_"Do you miss him?"_

_His Pa seemed to hesitate a little, as if considering what to say. It wasn't until much later that Clark learned how much Jonathan and David Kent had been different._

_"He was my brother," Jonathan finally said. "Family is always family. I try to remember the good times we had."_

_Ma's voice called up to them from the doorway. "What's taking so long, dinner's almost ready! Go get washed up, Clark."_

_"Yes, ma'am!"_

_When Clark was in the bathroom washing his hands, he __heard his parents talking outside. Usually, he didn't let himself listen in, he had learned long ago that it was impolite. But they were talking about his war hero uncle._

_"Clark found Dad's old scrapbook. I thought I'd put it away but it was in the bottom drawer."_

_"Oh, he did?" Ma's voice sounded strained. "What did he say?"_

_"Oh, he just wanted to know who he was, why I never mentioned him...I guess I should have talked to him earlier. He should know about our family. I just said he was lost in Vietnam."_

_"You brother was a bully, and best forgotten!" Martha's voice was angry now. "You have nothing to feel sorry for. After what he did to me...well, that's all in the past now. No need to drag it out of there."_

_"You think I shouldn't have told him?"  
_

_A short silence._

_"No, you did right to tell him. It shouldn't be like some ugly family secret we keep locked up in the basement. We have to teach him that family should be honest with each other..."_

"Clark?" Lane was looking at him closely across the table.

Clark blinked. "What? Oh...I'm sorry. This is just bringing up memories."

"What do you know about the circumstances of Sergeant Kent's status?"

"Well...I knew he was MIA, later presumed killed, in 1971 I think. I saw the letter in a scrapbook my parents kept."

"Your uncle was a Green Beret in Vietnam, that is true. He was an excellent soldier."

"But what has this got to do with me?" Clark asked, staring at the general. "Why bring me here to tell me that?"

General Sam Lane looked at him for a moment, then said slowly, carefully choosing his words. "Sergeant Kent didn't die in Vietnam."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's alive, Clark. Your uncle's alive."

_To be continued..._

* * *

**[A/N: The mystery continues! What will this revelation mean for the Kents? Or the Justice League? What's Batman's latest scheme? Tune in next chapter to find out!**

**Borrowing a few characters here: Titus Crow is the creation of Brian Lumley, who wrote a series of Lovecraftian novels featuring Crow as a kind of psychic detective (like Constantine!) the short stories are kind of good, but overall they're pretty pulpy. **

**Some of you (UK especially?) may recognize Quatermass from a series of old movies back in the 60s and 70s! I really liked how creepy they were! Created by Nigel Kneale, but I don't think he was influenced by Lovecraft particularly, although they do have that feel, so a little shout out to him here as a cameo.**

**As always, please review, please ;)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_The New England Coast_

The same day Clark Kent was hauled away in a black-and-white sheriff's vehicle, Barry Allen decided to go for a run.

Every now and then he enjoyed running just for the heck of it, no destination or plan in mind, just get up and go. He'd criss-crossed the world several times over, run down the streets of every major city of the world, and through natural landscapes like South American rain forests, African jungles, and over vast plains and high mountains on every continent. He never tired of it. It helped him relax, and was also just plain fun.

Another thing that he'd recently taken to doing was slowing down just enough to be captured on film by some tourist's camera before they realized it. At first it was an accident: he'd slowed to look at some Caribbean waterfall, and ended up behind a family posing for photos, a big red man-shaped blur. Instead of being upset their photo was ruined, the family was thrilled to have been "photobombed by the Flash" and posted it up on their Facebook page. Soon, more people wanted their own "Flash photobomb." Barry was happy to oblige, so he began surprising people all over the world, ending up in their vacation snaps. Soon, more people had photos to prove they'd been photobombed by the Flash and there were even Web sites dedicated to the "Flash photobomb." Barry couldn't help but feel flattered - there were more Web sites for his photobombs than pictures of Superman! Of course, Batman had no such Web site dedicated to him, and he liked it that way. Barry thought that Batman missed out on the fact that these were great public relations for the Justice League too.

But actually, Barry preferred to avoid the touristy places and instead head for the remote spots, the "road less traveled" type of place, or sometimes he just ran to places where he could be guaranteed "alone time." Not that he and Iris weren't getting along, but sometimes he just had to be by himself. Today was one of those days. He decided on a run along the coast of the Eastern seaboard of the United States. The weather was nice, if a bit overcast and slightly chilly, which would mean that there wouldn't be too many people out.

He decided to start in Key West and head north. As he'd thought, there weren't very many people out. He got as far up as Massachusetts, before he saw someone he recognized. Actually two of them. They were standing at the water's edge, like any other couple enjoying the view. Barry instantly forgot his need for solitude.

"Arthur! Mera!" Barry waved excitedly, and slowed down, skidding to a stop on the sandy beach. "Long time no sea! Get it?"

"Hey Barry, how's it going?" Arthur smiled wanly. He shook his friend's hand. Barry guessed he hadn't seen him in months, but he was still the same Arthur Curry, only he'd grown a short beard.

_He looks tired,_ Flash thought. No wonder, being king must be pretty busy work.

"Mera, you look beautiful as always!"

It was impossible to not notice, or ignore, Queen Mera. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, taller than Barry, with a gorgeous cascade of reddish-golden hair. Her golden crown caught what little sunlight poked through the gray clouds.

"Thank you, Barry, it's good to see you again too." She was always gracious to him, and courteous, but the Flash knew she could have a frightening temper, almost as bad as Diana's, although he would never say so out loud, to either of them. It had gotten her in trouble, above the sea and below it, more than once.

Neither of them mentioned what they were doing on dry land, so after a moment, Barry asked:

"So...when are you guys coming back to the Justice League?"

"Is Batman still mad at us?" asked Mera.

"Oh, he's just Bats, you know how he is, he's always grumpy! But really, we could use a hand anyway, now that Supes and Wondy's have the baby to take care of."

Mera's happy expression faded slightly. Instantly Flash could have kicked himself – what good was superspeed if you still ended up blabbing the wrong thing? He knew Arthur and Mera wanted to be parents, but since no Aquababy had turned up….

"It'll be soon," Arthur said hurriedly, glancing quickly at Mera. "I just have a few matters in Atlantis that need to be wrapped up, then I can spend some more time with you dry-landers," he laughed.

"Great!" Barry exclaimed. "We all missed you! How're things in Atlantis, then?"

"Fine," Mera said quietly. "We're just taking a day off. Arthur's going to take me into Boston to see the symphony orchestra," she smiled at her husband. "He's so thoughtful."

"Cool!" Barry said. "That's not far from here...well, I think we're near Boston."

"We're near Innsmouth, actually" Arthur said. "I think it's only about 50 or so miles away."

"Innsmouth?" Flash had never heard of it. "Is it a beach town?"

"Um, no, there's no town there anymore, actually" Arthur said slowly, looking slightly uncomfortable, although Barry didn't know why. "It used to be active, but they probably overfished the seas here, just thought I'd take a look to see if it could come back maybe."

"Oh...ok," Flash said, when Arthur and Mera didn't elaborate further. They looked a bit awkward, and he wondered if he'd interrupted them in the middle of their own personal time. Whoops. "That's, um, interesting. Well, I'll let Bats know you're coming back?"

"Yes, please do, and please tell Diana I'm happy for her," Mera said. "I'll bring Jon a present from Atlantis."

"Great! You kids have fun! See you soon at the Watchtower!"

He waved goodbye, and the Flash took off again in a blur. Arthur and Mera looked after him although they could no longer see him.

"So I guess I'm taking you to see the Boston Pops," Arthur said glumly. "I wonder what that's gonna cost for tickets."

"Oh you," Mera pinched him. "It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment."

"I shouldn't have mentioned Innsmouth," Arthur muttered. "Maybe he'll get suspicious."

"Not Barry," replied Mera. "I thought Bruce was the suspicious one?"

"Oh, yeah, he is," Arthur looked away. "But maybe Barry won't mention it, I hope. At least...we didn't find anything."

Mera looked sharply at him. "You think we should have?"

Arthur held her hands, and looked down at the sand for a moment. The beach around them was definitely not the picturesque postcard type. The sand was a dull, grayish color, and spotted with pieces of dead kelp. The coastline was crooked, marked by jagged black rocks. A bleak, uninviting, inhospitable place.

"No, I'm glad we didn't," Arthur finally said. "That's a relief. Maybe it's nothing, and this is all one big bout of paranoia on my part. Maybe..."

"I think you did the right thing, my love," Mera said. "You're a King, and you have to make tough choices sometimes."

"I've studied history. Repression makes cults flourish," Arthur said quietly. "This could backfire, make things worse. If Batman knew I re-instituted the death penalty in Atlantis...he might kick me out of the Justice League."

Mera shook his head firmly. "Never mind him, you know we can't give the impression that we would tolerate the cult for a moment. It's the worst sort of evil! Even now, I still can't believe Atlanteans would follow the cult of Da-"

Mera stopped herself, then continued in a gentler tone of voice.

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, of all people. I will support you whatever you do."

Arthur gathered her up in his muscular arms. "What would I do without you, my love?"

"I don't know," Mera said, kissing him on the cheek. "So the least you can do is take me to the symphony."

* * *

_Orange County_

It was nearly 9:45 pm by the time Diana heard noise outside, and the front door opening. Jon heard him before she did, and started crying out happily and ratting the railing of his specially-made crib. He still hadn't yet learned to make recognizable words; the sounds that came out of his mouth did sound like _Da….Da…_but maybe it was only wishful thinking. He hadn't learned to say _Mama yet_ either. It worried Diana that Jon hadn't yet vocalized properly, but Clark didn't think it was a problem: he said that Einstein didn't talk until he was four, which still didn't exactly reassure her.

Earlier, after she'd talked to Black Canary, Diana had sat before the small household shrine she maintained in a corner of their bedroom. It was strange, she'd realized, how much Clark's being taken away had upset her - she'd been less worried when he'd gone off to fight powerful monsters. Something else was unsettling her, although she couldn't put her finger on it. Dinah had suggested it was all just part of her adjusting to "real world" worries, but she wasn't sure. Maybe she just didn't handle worries very well.

The shrine was a painted wooden cabinet with two folding doors, and every day Diana adorned it with fresh flowers; when opened it revealed several small statues only a few inches in height, set against a painted backdrop depicting the glories of Elysium. The ones at the back were idols of the Olympian gods, the ones revered by the Amazons: Ares and the nymph Harmonia (the mythical progenitors of the Amazons), Zeus and Hera, Artemis of the Hunt. These were typically included in any Amazon shrine; the rest would be those most cherished by the shrine's owner. Diana had three such images in the forefront of her shrine: her mother Hippolyta, her husband Clark, and her son Jon, smaller than the rest. All three were hand carved by Diana herself, in accordance with ancient custom.

Diana lit candles and incense, as she did whenever she settled in before the shrine to pray and meditate. If truth be told, she hardly had the time to meditate after Jon was born, and honestly she didn't see the point of prayer to the Olympians - it wasn't like they ever responded. But old habits died hard, she supposed. She wafted the sandalwood smoke towards her face and sent up a silent prayer anyway. She carefully picked up Clark's statue, the wood by now worn smooth with much handling. He was carved in heroic pose, complete with flowing cape.

"Bring my husband safe home," Diana murmured the traditional Themysciran words. "Watch over and protect him."

Strange how the old words soothed, although she wondered if Zeus was even present in this world. Perhaps he and the Gods had vanished when people ceased to worship them and prayed instead to the new patriarchal deities. As Diana sat contemplatively in front of her shrine, it occurred to her that Clark had never joined her in these devotions. Clark had told her that the Kryptonians once practiced religion thousands of years ago but that by his parents' time the cult of Rao was more of a philosophy of virtue. She knew that when he was a boy the Kents had sometimes taken him to their Methodist church, although Clark rarely attended now. Diana had gone with him once when they'd lived in Smallville. Once.

It also occurred to her that they'd never talked about whether, or how, they would teach Jon...all that. It seemed too early. But she knew that, before they realized it, he'd be a grown man, with incredible powers. He was half-Kryptonian and half-human, with a good dollop of divinity from Diana's father. They would need to teach him right and wrong as soon as possible. Diana knew her husband possessed very deeply held moral beliefs. Diana shared many of them...but not all. She didn't exactly share in his rigid adherence to non-killing for one thing. She could tell Clark was disturbed that she was already teaching Jon to wield the sword, but she was adamant that Jon would learn how to fight as soon as possible. She had no delusions that her son would not be a target for powerful villains. And yet...

It was Clark's humility, Diana knew, which led him to trust in and obey the authority of the police officers, even though he could have easily refused. His parents had taught him that, and Clark would want to instill that in Jon too; she knew it for fact.

Diana sat cross-legged before her shrine, her eyes closed, trying to maintain balance. Dinah, although not an Amazon, knew some very good breathing exercises which she'd taught her. She knew she didn't share that virtue with her husband, that she struggled with it often. She was well-aware that her pride was her greatest weakness. Even though she believed it made her strong, she knew it could be used against her. If something happened to her, and Clark, where would that leave Jon?

As the hours passed, though, Diana found she couldn't concentrate, and left to tend to Jon. She tried to watch TV to distract herself (it didn't work), promising herself that if Clark didn't show up by midnight she would go down to the police station herself, and demand his release. She was not going to leave him there in some damned cell overnight. She would figure something out, hopefully without compromising their identities.

But it seemed now that the police had released Clark after all.

"Clark!" Diana immediately saw that he was fine. Despite her irritation (and a little fear, which she wouldn't completely admit), she was so relieved she rushed into her husband's arms. Clark hugged her reassuringly. "Are you all right?"

Clark looked calm, but quiet and a little distant, like he was preoccupied.

"Of course I am. I'm sorry I'm so late but I decided to walk home when they let me go. I just needed the time to think. Hey, little guy! Did you miss me?"

Jon did. He shrieked as his daddy picked him up and hoisted him up in the air.

"Clark?" Diana was momentarily nonplussed. "The police...they just let you go? You're not in any trouble?"

"Oh…no, it's nothing like that. I'm just really hungry," Clark glanced at the kitchen. "Is there any meatloaf left?"

"I…yes, there is, I kept it warm in the oven. I'll go make you a plate."

Diana silently went into the kitchen while Clark cooed at his son and kept swinging him up in the air, while Jon shouted each time. She had a hundred thoughts tumbling over in her head – what did the cops want, what did they do – and so on, but she knew better than to just bombard him with questions. As she cut a slice of the unevenly-shaped, slightly burnt meatloaf, and added some leftover veggies and guacamole from the fridge, she thought the last time she had seen him like this was when he'd found out his parents had died. Something big had happened, she suspected. Maybe someone he knew had died. But it couldn't be anyone from the Justice League...maybe from the _Planet_? She hoped it wasn't Lois, but she thought his reaction would be different if it was.

Clark sat down at the kitchen table with Jon on his knee as Diana placed his dinner in front of him.

"Thanks, Diana, this smells great," Clark smiled at her, but Diana could see it was forced. "What do we have to drink?"

"There's iced tea and ginger ale."

"I'll take a glass of tea…whoa, little guy!" Clark laughed. Jon had tried to lunge for the meatloaf. Clark bounced him on his knee. "That's not a toy!" Lately Jon had taken to chucking anything he could get his hands on. There was a crack in the window in the living room due to a flying Ninja Turtle.

"I'll swap you the tea for Jon," Diana sat the pitcher and glass in front of Clark and took the baby from him. "I'll give him a bath and put him to bed while you eat."

Clark said nothing else and turned his attention to his food, while Diana took Jon into the bathroom and wondered again what had happened with the police. This wasn't usually like him.

Jon fidgeted and fussed when Diana undressed him but she scolded him sharply and he quieted down. She guessed that it might be she who would turn out as the disciplinarian in the family.

When she'd finished bathing Jon, dried him dressed him in his one-piece pjs, and put him to bed, she found Clark had finished dinner and was in the bedroom. He'd already pulled off his clothes and put on sweatpants, which he'd liked to sleep in. He was staring thoughtfully down on the carpet, with that same look on his face. She sat down beside him. He didn't look up.

"Clark…are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I saw General Lane today," Clark finally said.

At the sound of his name, Diana stiffened. She knew who he was, and what he had done to Clark, and didn't like that one bit.

"That man! He found out your identity!"

Clark snorted. "I doubt I'd be sitting here if he did." He explained what had happened and what he had told him. Diana was astonished.

"But…that's incredible! What happened to him, where was he all these years?"

"They're not sure yet, or they won't tell me yet. He was found in the highlands of Laos by European tourists. Hikers or something."

Clark still hadn't looked up from contemplating the ugly red carpet in Jimmy Olsen's bedroom. Diana took his hands in hers.

"Aren't you happy?" She asked curiously. "Your uncle, alive, after all these years?"

"But he's not my uncle, I mean, not really," Clark said slowly. "He was Jonathan Kent's brother and Pa said he never really got along with him, that he was a bully. He said he was always getting in fights and in trouble with the law. He was supposed to inherit the farm but he signed up for the Army to stay out of jail, you could do that back then. Ma knew him and I don't think she liked him either. Once he went in the Army, he came back to see the family only once more, at their wedding. He got drunk and into a fight so they tossed him out, she said. Then he left and went to Vietnam. They never saw him again. The Army said he was missing in action - MIA - and presumed killed. They rarely talked about him, maybe only once or twice I can remember. I think Pa always felt a little guilty because he got the farm since his older brother died."

"He was a young man, then," Diana said gently. "I think 40 years probably changes a person. He's an old man now, traumatized and separated from his loved ones for so long."

Clark didn't say anything. Diana squeezed his hands tighter. "What else did Lane tell you? What does he want?" She thought she already knew.

Clark looked at her, then. "General Lane wants my help. He thinks a 'family member' will help him readjust, once he gets out of the hospital. They have him somewhere, maybe Europe, I don't know," he gave a short, derisive laugh. "He even asked me for a DNA swab just to make sure they identified the right guy, but I guess Lois didn't tell him I was adopted. You should have seen the look on his face."

Diana knew that Clark's invented backstory was that he was the child of Martha Kent's cousin, a wayward girl who had ran away from home to San Francisco to become a punk rocker, and ended up falling off a third-story hotel balcony during a drug binge ('Ma always said that Tracy Clark had a drugs problem - her problem was she couldn't get enough of them'). As backstories went, it wasn't perfect, but it had held up with some forged paperwork.

"Well…when will you meet him? You..._are_ going to see him?"

Clark sighed. "I guess I will. General Lane said he would let me know when that would be."

"Something else is bothering you." Diana said. Clark was silent for a moment.

"Lane wants to arrange the reunion on a military base, when he come back to the US, the same one where I was held..you know how I…how I feel about that."

_Clark had struggled to keep his emotions under control during the entire meeting with General Lane. The man was everything he'd disliked about power and authority: arrogant, contemptuous of what he didn't understand, over-confident in his own skills. He had collaborated with Lex Luthor to hold him captive, briefly, but Clark had painful memories of that, the first time he'd ever been held against his will and tortured. It was like he wasn't even a living, intelligent being to him - he was just an alien, less than an animal, and he didn't care if he was in pain. He just hadn't _mattered, _and that had infuriated him._

_"My uncle," Clark said thickly. "Where is he? When can I see him?"_

_"I can't disclose where he is, the location's classified," Lane glared at him, almost as if it was an insult that Clark was adopted and couldn't give him the confirmation DNA sample he wanted. "But we'll reunite the two of you as soon as Sergeant Kent's medical checkups are done."_

_There was something in Lane's tone of voice that Clark only noticed later, a hint of puzzlement, which he didn't understand. Lane went on._

_"As you can imagine, we'd like to keep this quiet, for now. The revelation that a US soldier was left behind alive in Southeast Asia, well, that doesn't look good."_

_Clark glared at him. "I'm sure it was hard on my uncle too!"_

_Lane had stiffened angrily. "That's not what I meant! I was - am - as shocked as you are. It should never have happened, that we left someone behind." The tone of his voice suggested he really meant it._

_"However, I'm sure you don't want a horde of press at your door 24/7, even if you're one of them," he added with a hint of contempt. Clark knew that Lane didn't like journalists, and that he barely got on with his own daughter._

_"No, I won't write anything...for now," Clark said. "I want my uncle to be taken care of."_

_"He will be, I give you my word on that, Kent. But that's why we have to run our medical tests first, and some psych evals."_

_"Is he badly injured? Can't you tell me what his condition is?"_

_General Lane hesitated, and Clark could tell, with his journalist's eye, that he was keeping something back. What wasn't he telling him?_

_"He's in remarkably good shape, considering...but I can't divulge more than that," he added quickly. "I will be in touch with you in the next week or so."_

_That was really the end of their meeting. Lane had made Clark fill out some more maddening forms, and that was that. The police offered to drive him back home, but Clark declined. He needed time to think about all this._

"I will come with you, then, if you want. We're a family now, you won't be dealing with this alone."

Clark sighed as Diana caressed his hair, pressing his head against her shoulder. "I'm just in shock, I guess. It's brought up memories of Ma and Pa. It still hurts."

"Don't I know how that feels," Diana whispered, her cheek resting against the top of Clark's head. "Let's try to get some sleep. We're taking Jon to Disneyland tomorrow, remember?"

Clark groaned. "Yes, that's right!" He fell back down on the bed, thinking. "We'd better leave early or we'll never make it through the crowds!"

"We could postpone it, if you really rather not?"

"No, I promised Jon."

"He won't know, at his age!"

"Oh, he's a smart kid! He'll never let us forget. He'll say, 'Remember when I was one and you didn't take me to see Mickey Mouse?' When we're in the Justice League Retirement Home."

Diana laughed, relieved to see her husband's humor returning. The dark premonition she had felt creeping up had dissipated. "I guess we'd better then, so he'll treat his old parents properly!"

Clark turned off the light, and almost instantly fell asleep. Diana curled up next to him, holding one arm protectively across his chest, thinking about what the future might bring.

Sleep came, and stayed awhile.

* * *

**[A/N: If you think Clark is correct Lane is hiding something, you'd be right! You'll have to wait to find out what it is - next chapter is Batman takes a trip to England. Zatanna awaits him...and what is left of John Constantine.**

**As always, your review are welcome and appreciated!]**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_And if I wake from Dreams_

_Shall I fall in pastures_

_Will I wake the darkness_

_Shall we torch the Earth?_

_And if I wake from dreams_

_Shall we find the emptiness_

_And break the silence_

_That will stop our hearts?_

_And if I wake from dreams_

_Shall we cry together,_

_For their howling echoes_

_And restart the night?_

_And why did you say_

_That things shall fall_

_And fall and fall and fall_

_And fall apart?_

_And shall I wake from dreams_

_From the glory of nothing_

_For the cracking of the sun_

_For the crawling down of lies?_

_And if I fall from dreams_

_Shall we push them into darkness_

_And stare into the howling_

_And clamber into night?_

_And if I fall from dreams_

_All my prayers are silenced_

_To love is to lose_

_And to lose is to die._

_And why did you say_

_That things shall fall_

_And fall and fall and fall_

_And fall apart?_

_- _"Fall Apart," Death in June

_One week later…_

Sleek, streamlined, invisible against the night sky the unmarked jet flew soundlessly and sightlessly, radar-undetected, over the Atlantic Ocean. Widely known to the general public (although rather through wild hearsay rather than credible evidence) as the famed and indestructible "Batplane" the label hardly did the vehicle justice, considering its true scale. Composed of technology and alloys exclusive to Wayne Enterprises, many world militaries and terrorists would have cheerfully slaughtered thousands for its tech if it could. That was only one of the many reasons it was one of the Batman's most closely guarded secrets. No one but the Batman, his butler Alfred, and Lucius Fox knew of its complete specifications and capabilities.

Bruce Wayne, sitting at the controls, didn't dwell on the immense power available at his gloved fingertips; it was simply there to do its job for him, which was to get him from point A to point B expeditiously in the least amount of time. In this instance, it was to transport him from Gotham City to the town of Brichester in England, where he was to rendezvous with the magician Zatanna Zatara.

He hadn't spoken to Zatanna for some time, he reflected; he had wanted her help (and through her contacts, the help of others in the so-called magickal community) in dealing with contingencies that could be best resolve through their unique 'abilities.' After the bizarre happenings in Themyscira, this had become something of a high-priority. Initially Zatanna had agreed, but Bruce soon found, to his intense disappointment, that her participation was ambivalent at best and avoidant at worst. Even though she had been of great help during the crisis on Themyscira, she had refused to talk about it afterwords, much to his annoyance. It almost seemed like she was avoiding him purposely.

Then, about three months ago, Zatanna had taken a "leave of absence" from the Justice League, without explanation and without saying for how long or why she was leaving. It was against all policy and procedures to just take off like she did, but of course no one could really stop her from disappearing if she wanted to. She was a sorceress, after all. Then, out of the blue, she had contacted him a week ago through Alfred, forwarding a number for Bruce to call her at. After some deliberation (he had seriously thought about ignoring her altogether), Bruce decided to make the call. He dialed the unlisted number from the Batcave, and her familiar face had appeared on his video-teleconferencing window.

"Hello Bruce," Zatanna said in a quiet voice, without elaboration. "Thank you for calling me."

Bruce's face and tone was impassive as he stared at the young woman. She was one of the few people on earth unintimidated by what had come to be known as the "Bat-Stare."

"You're AWOL, Zatanna. I trust you have a good explanation for your absence?"

"I do," she replied. "But…it's best if you see the reason for yourself. I need you to come to England, I-"

"I'm a busy man," Batman said impatiently. "I don't have time to go gallivanting all over the planet for-"

"It's John, Bruce," Zatanna interrupted. "It's Constantine. That's...why I was absent for so long. I'm sorry, but I really need you to come here." There was a hint of urgency in her voice, Bruce noted.

"Where is _here_? Where are you?"

"I'm in England. The town of Brichester to be exact, in the Severn Valley area."

Bruce noted Zatanna's fatigued expression and the hint of reflected darkness in her eyes. Judging from the dingy and cramped background he could see on the video teleconference, he deduced she was in some cheap one-room flat, and it wasn't in London's Kensington Square. It didn't look like a place she'd usually be seen in, and he wondered if it was Constantine's flat. He scowled.

"Constantine," he snapped. "What's he gotten into now?"

Bruce did not think very highly of Zatanna's magician colleague. For all his touted skills in the "magick arts," and his occasional (and unreliable) help with Justice League matters, Bruce considered the man conceited, rude and undisciplined, all things Bruce couldn't stand. He wouldn't have him in the League, even if Constantine had asked to join (he didn't) and it was all too clear that the man wasn't a team-player anyway. He made every act he did for Batman and the League seem like a debt that he would want to be repaid with interest in the near-future.

Before he had left for Arkham, Bruce had asked him for his help with his researches but he'd been rebuffed. He'd met him outside some London club, in a dirty alleyway stinking of human urine. It seemed to fit the man, Bruce thought.

Constantine, as usual, was dressed as shabbily as his surroundings, in a long and stained trench coat (Bruce noted that one of the stains was dried blood), his blonde hair uncombed and sticking up in unwashed spikes. He was a chain-smoker, and lit a cigarette up the moment he saw Bruce approaching him. Bruce hated cigarette smoke, and he knew that Constantine knew that, but it didn't stop the man from blowing the foul smoke in his direction.

"So what do I owe the honor of this personal one-on-one too?" Constantine asked with his usual nonchalance. "What's so important you needed to see me in person, rather than chat me up on your Bat-phone?"

"I'd like your help on a certain matter," Bruce had said as cordially as he could manage. "I'm doing research on-"

"Oh yeah, Zee told me what you were up to," Constantine took another long, leisurely puff, leaning against the brick wall. "But I don't think so."

"You don't know what I'm going to ask you!" Bruce struggled to keep his temper.

"Eh? You were going to ask me to loan you some books. Isn't that it?"

Bruce gave a slight nod of his cowled head. "I have some...already. I just need certain other volumes."

"Become the collector of occult lore, have you?" Constantine smiled, although his smile held no humor, and revealed his nicotine-stained teeth, which also suffered from the curious British disregard for proper dentistry. "What kind of volumes?"

"I want the _Al Azif," _Bruce replied bluntly.

"Oh ho ho! The man wants the _Necronomicon_ itself!" Constantine chortled in such a loud voice that a few men loitering near the mouth of the alleyway looked up. Bruce shot them a look and, despite their clearly illicit doings, managed to quickly scamper off.

"Keep your voice down!" Bruce snarled. "I-"

"Y'know, it's like you're a kid who's just discovered the wonders of Shakespeare, and now you want the First Folio," Constantine laughed coarsely. "Well, I guess if you're a _rich_ kid, you could get actually get it, eh?"

He gave a knowing wink, which only served to highly irritate him even more, if that were possible.

"Do you have it or not?"

"'Do I have it,'" Constantine replied mockingly. "Oh sure, mate, I have it right on me nightstand, let me run home and hand it over to you."

He shook his head, took another deep drag. "Zatanna told me how you were, but I didn't know just how nuts you _really_ were until tonight!"

"You don't have it."

"No, I don't have it, and I wouldn't give it to you if I did," Constantine's eyes narrowed, the humor gone in an instant. In the light of his lit cigarette end, he suddenly looked rather menacing - not a person to mess around with. "She wouldn't either, if she had it. You don't get it, that book...that is like the plutonium you need fer the bomb. You go mucking about with shit like that, yer liable to get burned..._radiation poisoning_, know what I mean?"

"Why?" Bruce stepped closer to the rakish Englishman, every inch the looming Dark Knight. He wasn't frightened of the man, like some others in the League he could mention. "What can it do?"

Constantine said nothing for a moment, unruffled by Bruce's awesome presence. He looked up at the sky over the alleyway, seemed to be listening to the thumping music from the building next to them.

"It draws you in," he said reflectively, exhaling another cloud of smoke. "Kind of like that first hit...such a good feeling, but then you'll want more. You'll _do_ more so you can _get_ more. Then, you'll want the harder stuff, because what you did before just doesn't do it for you anymore. That rush of scoring, of breaking all the rules...you feel it's like, like..."

Constantine's voice had gone distant, his face tightening and becoming drawn...then he winked at him.

"Like _occult knowledge_, eh? I know you're hooked right and good. Listen, mate, forget all about your little 'research' and go back to Gotham and punch some gangster thug hip-hop whatnots. You'll feel much better! Like Nancy Reagan said: just say no!"

Constantine laughed hilariously as Bruce whirled about in pure rage and stormed away, disappearing in the night.

"Cheers, mate," Constantine waved him goodbye, and guffawed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't!"

That had been nearly a year ago, and then Constantine had disappeared or gone to ground, not that most the League noticed or cared, particularly. Bruce certainly didn't. He knew the man also had a habit of ditching creditors.

"It's best if you just see for yourself," Zatanna said, and added in a note of pleading, "_Please_ come."

Something about Zatanna's tone compelled him to go; besides, he was still curious about what had gone on between the two of them. He had a feeling that it was not good.

The Batplane landed, undetected as usual, in an empty field a good distance from the inhabited areas. It took him very little time to track down Zatanna; she had given her address in an area of the city known as Lower Brichester, probably to distinguish it from its better half. He noted the boarded-up shops and the debris casually slung into the street, the graffitied walls and the parked cars whose shrouded windows suggested there were people living in them. He found her apartment in an equally decayed-looking tenement, but no one saw him enter; there seemed to be no one about at all. Perhaps it was the stink of cat piss and garbage that kept people out.

Zatanna opened the door of her flat as he approached. For a moment, when he'd entered this depressed area of the city he'd wondered if somehow she too had let herself go and become part of the fraying fabric of society, but he found he was relieved to see her looked the same when he beheld her last. She was dressed in dark pants and boots, her white starched tunic tight against her upper body, and her fishnet gloves intact. Only her eyes revealed a measure of exhaustion and unhappiness.

"Why are we here, Zatanna?" Bruce demanded peremptorily.

"Thank you for coming," Zatanna said as if he was making a courtesy call. "I couldn't just tell you over the phone, I...had to show you in person."

"Show me what?" Batman suddenly found he felt angry, and didn't know why. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"Come with me."

Zatanna raised her hand and spoke some strange incantation. The next moment Bruce saw that he was gone from the tenement...and in another one that was, somehow, even worse than hers appeared. The fluorescent light in the hallway was faint and fading, and from somewhere came the sound of an eerie, wailing music that sounded vaguely Middle Eastern. The smell here was different, also reminiscent of human excrement mixed with burned curry and sour milk.

They were before a door, its nameplate knocked off. "This is Constantine's old flat," Zatanna explained.

"Is he in?" Bruce glared at her.

Zatanna shook her head. "No, he's not here anymore. But...I think you should see what he's been up to."

She reached down for the doorknob, turned it, and pushed it open. It wasn't locked, and the door swung open.

Darkness greeted their eyes. It wouldn't have surprised Batman to learn that Constantine neglected his utility bills. "What is this..."

"_Thgil_."

White light flooded the abandoned apartment, and Bruce threw a hand over his eyes to mitigate the temporary brightness. When he could see effectively again, his eyes widened despite himself.

The place looked like it had been a setting for a bizarre art project as imagined and designed by a severely affected schizophrenic off his meds. There was no furniture in the room or, rather, the furniture had been disassembled and re-done, recreated in the service of creating some massive semi-spherical shape in the center of the room, where the kitchen presumably once had been. Long gray rods, perhaps curtain rods once upon a time, or other pieces of machinery, jutted out at all angles in every direction, supplemented by bits and pieces that gleamed or shone in the light, or - strangely - seemed to suck up the light and draw it into the indescribable mass, like a crazy knot turned into a black hole. Paint seemed to have at one point been splashed over most of it - he could see stains on the floor. The room stank abominably of rotted food and human sweat.

"What the hell is this?"

Bruce demanded. As he stared at the thing, he kept wondering if he could detect some kind of reasoning behind why it was the way it...was. There was a lack of randomness to it, a sense of purpose, but he couldn't tell for what purpose it had been created, or what design influenced it, only that it _was,_ somehow...and it was somehow wrong. An offense to the eyes, and the senses. It wouldn't win any prizes at the Biennale.

He also had the uncanny feeling of being watched...for a brief, crazy second he almost asked if Constantine himself was somehow within the thing, and was just awaiting introductions from within his new lurking place.

"Don't stare at it too hard, Bruce," Zatanna said mildly. "It will just make you dizzy, at best."

"Constantine did this? This is why he disappeared?" Bruce's voice was disbelieving.

She nodded, the weariness again present strongly in her eyes. "John was attempting a summoning."

Magick again. Bruce had mixed feelings about that. He was of the view that magick was just technology as yet misunderstood by most people, but he didn't include himself in most people.

"I thought that was fairly easy for you people to do,"

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "'_You_ people'?"

"You know what I mean. Magicians. I don't think this is exactly out of the ordinary, is it."

"No, but what he was summoning was," Zatanna replied carefully. "The Render of the Veils."

"Speak plainly," Bruce snapped. "What are you talking about?

"Daoloth, the Render of the Veils," Zatanna said, her voice now tinged with emotion. "An...entity, from beyond."

Bruce stared hard at her. "Like the thing in Carcosa?"

"Something...like that. Daoloth is said to exist beyond space-time in different dimensions than ours, but if contacted can grant its followers vision of the future and how the dimensions can be manipulated for benefit. Or so it is written in the damned books you're currently collecting. It's all bullshit but..."

Zatanna clenched her fist. "The practice is banned among my 'people' but Constantine is not one of my people, is he. He does - did - what he wants. He was misled by certain...others that he could attempt a summoning. He had to create a way, a window, so that the entity could communicate with him."

Bruce suddenly felt nauseous. It was either the unearthly light or the smells that were overwhelming his olfactory nerves and the rest of his senses. "Did he? Where is he now?"

Zatanna stared at him, perhaps noticing he was becoming pale and unsteady. She shouted something and then...

"What is this place?" Batman stared at the old Victorian-style building and its entrance steps they were now standing in front of. They were out of Lower Brichester presumably, judging from the manicured front and gardens. The building had an engraved sign above its doors: Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital. "Some kind of asylum?"

"Yes, but a special one," Zatanna said. "The board of directors are all _homo magii, _as are some of the staff. It was established for things such as..."

"Constantine, he's in here isn't he? Take me to him, I want to see him."

"Bruce..." Zatanna looked unhappy.

"_Now_. I need to know, Zatanna," Bruce added in a slightly gentler voice.

Silently, she led him into the building, past the security guard at the door and the information desk and nursing station, none of whom seemed to see them. Undoubtedly Zatanna had put some sort of invisibility spell over them. They went down two floors, into the secured and locked facility. No one stopped them.

The place was spotless, and nothing like the stereotypical movie image of a lunatic asylum. The hallway was clean, smelling faintly of antiseptic. But it had the same function - to keep the insane interned and out of sight.

"Which cell is he in?"

Zatanna gestured towards the last door on his left. She waved her hand: "_Nepo_."

A click and it swung inward. Batman glanced at her, but she stared hard at the tiled floor, unwilling to meet his eyes, or look into the dark room.

Slowly, Bruce stepped inside...and stared.

The writing, twisted thing secured firmly with restraints on the padded board did not resemble the man he had seen outside that club all those months ago. This person could have been anyone else, especially one perhaps suffering the advanced stages of AIDS, with attendant dementia. The guttural and broken voice that croaked and drooled from his mouth was not his usual snarky and witty comebacks. The crooked thing in the cell who looked as if he had spent the better part of a season in Dachau.

Bruce backed out of the cell. "Get me out of here," he ordered hoarsely. "Get me out of here, now."

Then he was in the cool night air, breathing in deeply, trying to cleanse the image from his mind. Zatanna stood behind him, silently.

"Can you help him?" Batman finally said, after a few seconds. "Can he…recover from this?"

Zatanna shook his head. "We'll do our best but no one who has tried what he has, a summoning of Daoloth, has ever come back. They go mad...as you clearly saw."

"How did it happen!" Bruce demanded, his cape swirling about him. "Constantine wasn't an idiot! Didn't you try to stop him?"

"No, Bruce, he wasn't. He did this all on his own initiative, it is true. I tried to stop him, I had some idea of what he was up to, but you know he doesn't trust anyone. he's like you," Zatanna's voice was embittered. "He built that thing in his flat to try the summoning and it worked. But something went wrong. Perhaps he let a bit of light in, or was careless and lit one of his damned cancer-sticks...only a little bit of light, but it would be enough to see Daoloth for a second...that's all it would take. So...he didn't get what he wanted."

Batman suddenly lunged at Zatanna, grasping her arms, startling her.

"Is that why you brought me here, to show me that wreck of a man in there?" he snarled. "Are you trying to teach me some kind of lesson?"

"Yes!" Zatanna shouted, pulling herself away. "You need to…" she seemed to try to get herself together. "You need to, to think about what you're doing, Bruce."

"What am I doing?" Bruce's voice dripped venom. "You tell me."

"Your dreams have changed, haven't they?" Zatanna accused him. "Tell me, you don't dream of what you you usually do. You think you can see beyond the wall of sleep, but you can't. Only four people have tried it, and two came back mad. Constantine wanted to be the fifth, and now look at him!"

Zatanna's voice broke, and she looked away. He could see the young magician was nearly in tears, and he wondered at her relationship with John, but he was furious at having been so easily read. At the same time he almost wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her. Almost.

"So Constantine fucked up," Bruce said harshly. "You know yourself it was just a matter of time! He was careless. _I_ know what I'm doing, Zatanna, doing what you don't seem to be interested in doing, finding a way to stop those things in case they attack us again!"

"You don't get it, do you, you pointed-eared weirdo!" she shouted, exasperated. "Constantine _knew_. He was trying to help your idiotic ass! Only he did it in the most stupid way-" Zatanna paused, trying to get ahold of herself. "He wanted to show you he could be useful. He was trying to help."

Zatanna clenched her fists in impotent anger. Bruce was silenced for a moment.

"Then, all the more reason to try to stop this, for good, whatever it is," Bruce replied. "No more victims of some unnamed evil. We'll drag it into the light and end it once and for all."

"You haven't been listening at all, it doesn't work like that! Don't you think my people have tried-"

Something pinged on Batman's wrist, interrupting their argument. He looked at this wrist, reading the tiny text message.

"What is it?"

"It's Superman," Batman said. "He's calling for an emergency meeting."

Zatanna was curious. "About what?"

"He didn't say, but he's not the type to do something like that for no reason. Whatever we've uncovered so far will have to wait," Batman turned, his ebon cape swirling behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

"Are you coming, or not?"

Zatanna seemed to breathe a deep sigh.

"I'll come," she said. "If only to make sure you don't do anything foolish, Batman."

Batman turned around, thinking,

_It may be too late for that..._

_To be continued..._

* * *

**[A/N: Happy Birthday Batman! He's about to take the plunge into dark waters, can he survive when Constantine hasn't and will he drag Zatanna in with him? And what is Superman's meeting about? Please stay tuned for Justice League meeting next chapter, and more! As always, please review and thank you for reading!**

**Setting note : The Great Old One Daoloth and the fictional city of Brichester are inventions of Ramsey Campbell, one of the greatest living British horror writers! Check out his work, particularly "Cold Print"!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_She felt the familiar quickening of her blood, the pounding of her heart, coupled together with the sensation of time slowing down to an infinitesimal crawl. She knew the reason for it - WAR, and the anticipation of the imminent battle to come. The light in the sky was dim now, the flames of the burning city -_ her_ city - visible on the horizon. She held aloft her round shield, emblazoned with its stylized ascendant eagle, braced on her left arm as was customary, while her right gripped the smooth wooden shaft of the Amazonian spear, the "eight-footer," its deadly steel tip gleaming as she held it over the shield's sharpened edge._

_Although she could not see them, she felt the presence of her warrior-sisters on her right and left behind her, the host of the Amazons ready for battle. Diana's eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched. Excitement coursed through her armored limbs, even as she then heard the tramp of the enemy's feet, approaching steadily without break in the rhythm._

_They were coming. The Men of Alar._

_Hate flowed like adrenaline through her veins. It was all she could feel, all she _wanted_ to feel. She needed the hate to make her strong, to drive all other weak emotions away. She bared her teeth, feeling the weight of her crested helm against her cheeks, her forehead. To kill as many of the damned Alarians as possible, before they overwhelmed all Themyscira, was her only thought. Hatred of the cursed men, the invaders, the occupiers. There could be no reasoning, no compromise with such demons!_

_Thrump-thrump-thrump-thrump._

_She heard them before she saw them; their rhythmic marching, more like machines than men, their boots shaking the ground. There must be hundreds of them, thousands of them. Unnatural defilers of the Great Mother herself, the very earth protested their existence - she would destroy them all! _

_They emerged over the ridge, a long line of them resplendent in their black gold-braided uniforms, holding out their long rifle-crossbows menacingly before them. Their faces were half-concealed by their high shakos. Neither one could be distinguished from the other. Their marching spoke of iron discipline. She knew that their mission was to eliminate the Free Women, to the last woman and daughter. They would show no mercy, it was alien to them as cowardice was to the Amazons._

_But this time, she was ready for them, this time they would not take her by surprise. She would not wait for them to fall into their defensive squares as was their custom. Her sisters would smash them before they could. Her battle-cry rang out clear and loud in the air._

_ "Amazons! Attack!"_

_Diana charged, not knowing if her sisters followed. She roared as she felt the eight-footer strike home, burying itself in the guts of the first Alarian directly before her. The man collapsed in a pile of gory entrails as she yanked the weapon free, swinging it over her head to smash the head of a second soldier. His skull exploded in a shower of bone and blood and also fell like a ripped sack. Howling with bloodlust, Diana leapt into throwing stance and flung the eight-footer with all her force, skewering at least three of the enemy where they stood. Without pause she drew her xiphos, blocking the bayonet thrust of a grimacing Alarian, then with a quick twist of her wrist she slashed at his arm, slicing it away from his body. Another lunged at her, and she ducked his blow, rising to sever his head from his shoulders in a smooth stroke of her blade. Blood splashed across her face and chest. It dripped from her helmet and armor. She raised her __sword high and cried out her voice a primeval scream of triumph._

_"Kallinike!"_

_She eagerly turned to fight more of the enemy, but when she did she was no longer on the field of battle. Instead she was standing before a farmhouse, a neat and tidy building quite unlike those on her island. Despite that it looked vaguely familiar but she didn't have time to think where she might have seen it before. More Alarians were racing through the front yard, leaping over crumpled heaps that might have been rocks, or the bodies of her sisters. They ignored these obstacles. She called out to her sisters for aid, but it seemed none were left standing. She could see none though she called for them desperately. Then the Alarians were upon her, their sabers drawn. She raised her shield just in time to take the blows they rained down. She dug her heels into the ground but they were inexorably forcing her back into the house._

_As she crossed the threshold, she cursed, spitting at them through her teeth, and gave a mighty heave, sending them flying backwards. Yet still they poured on her like a tsunami of black uniforms. She lost her shield and in anger she slashed about with her xiphos, cutting down the faceless soldiers left and right, until there was a pile of corpses at her feet on the thick brown carpet..._

_Carpet?_

_Startled, Diana stared about her, finally recognizing where she was. This was her house! This was her home where she lived, not Paradise Island. No, this was in California, in America. Only down the street outside there would be a laundromat, a panaderia, an oil-change shop, the Cheesecake Factory where she and her husband had gone out to dinner several times since they had moved here..._

No, this is wrong, _Diana wanted to cry out to the Alarians, you're not supposed to be here, but she had no voice. They were true to their reputation: relentless and merciless. They overwhelmed her. They wrested the xiphos from her grip, but still she struggled, shocked and furious, until they had trapped her back into their bedroom._

Clark!_ She wanted to shout, but it was if the power of speech were taken from her. She felt their hands on her arms, her shoulders, and they forced her to her knees, as if to behead her. So. She would die __now, but she had no regrets for having fought and resisted, it was the way of the warrior. But they waited there - for what? There was something else, and she saw it as they turned her about, forced her to look._

_A single Alarian had broken off from the group that held her down. He strode over to the other end of the bedroom, where there was a wooden cradle. A noise was coming from it. For a moment she was stupid with confusion, then, horror swept over her as she recognized it too._

_Jon! JON! _

_She did not know if she cried it aloud. __Stunned, she saw the tall Alarian soldier pause at the head of her son's cradle. He pushed his shako up over his forehead with his fist. Then...she saw his face as he turned to look at her._

_...Bruce?_

_Stunned beyond comprehension, Diana saw that it was Bruce in that uniform. There was no doubt of it, his eyes, his jaw. But how…why? His face was blank and he did not appear to recognize her at all. Then, he returned his attention to the cradle, the crying baby within. She saw the drawn saber in his hand, and terror and disbelief took over her mind._

_He raised his sword, reversed it so it hovered point down._

_"No! No! Not my son! Bruce! Please!" Diana screamed, struggling to break the grip of the Alarians, but she knew with there was nothing she could do._

_The Alarians were merciless._

_The sword point flashed as it struck down._

"NO!"

"Diana! _Diana_!"

Strong hands were on her shoulders; instinctively she struck out blindly, felt something tear under her hand. A familiar grunt, but she knew this sound, and she knew she was awake. She realized her eyes were open but she couldn't see, it was dark; she struggled to clear the fog of sleep from her vision.

"Clark?" Diana gasped, confused. "What…what is...?"

"It's all right, Diana, you were having a bad dream."

Clark's voice was comforting and reassuring, tinged with worry. Diana realized she was sitting upright in their bed, the linen bedsheets tangled and half-thrown off. Clark sat close to her, his eyes full of concern. She realized that in her flailing she had ripped the old Kansas City Royals t-shirt he liked to sleep in.

Diana's eyes darted around their new bedroom, still only halfway furnished since their move-in day. There was nothing untoward lurking in the dark (of course not: why would there be?) and she felt her muscles relax from their involuntary tensing, but she realized her hands were still shaking, just as if she really had been in battle. She hid them underneath the sheets, suddenly feeling embarrassed. The red lights on the digital clock (set up atop a stack of cardboard boxes) read 4:41 AM.

"I'm so sorry, Clark," she said apologetically. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Clark still gently held onto her. He draped a corner of the bed sheet around her naked waist. "Are you feeling better now?"

She nodded wordlessly, still trying to think of what her dream meant, although the details were fading fast from her memory. Whatever had brought that on?

"What were you dreaming? It sounded like you were fighting."

"I...was. I was back on Themyscira. The Alarians were invading...again. I was fighting them, and then we were in our home, but they were there too, and there were too many of them, I..."

She stopped, thinking she was rambling. Diana contemplated for a moment whether she should tell Clark that she'd seen Bruce in her dream, but then thought better of it. The whole thing was absurd; it was all just stress from the move, and the remarkable news of Clark's uncle. She thought he might find it upsetting if she mentioned what Bruce had done in the dream, she thought he didn't need that right now.

"It's nothing," Diana assured him. "Just bad memories perhaps."

The look of worry did not entirely leave Clark's face. He had noticed how she had hid her shaking hands.

"Perhaps you should talk to someone," he suggested carefully. "It was such a traumatic experience for you."

"Oh, Clark," Diana said, in that tone of voice that Clark knew meant she wanted him to forget the whole thing. "I'm fine, really. Besides, who would I talk to? Call up a shrink?"

"I mean it, Diana," Clark insisted. "I know you're a 'strong Amazon warrior' and all but it doesn't mean you're not stressed. It could help you to talk about it."

Recently Batman and someone else, a Dr. Veritas or somebody, had been pushing some kind of "self-help" therapy specially tailored for members of the Justice League, which Diana thought was ironic since she thought the only one who really needed it was Batman. To her surprise, Clark had taken advantage of it and said it was helpful, but as far as she knew Barry was the only other person who had done the program.

"_You_ give me all the help I need," Diana insisted, and she smiled. "Besides, I have you to talk to. Really, I'm fine. Everyone has bad dreams once in awhile. Even you did, remember? We got through it together." She patted his hand. "I'll be all right, darling."

Clark did remember, and he remembered that his bad dreams back in Smallville had been something of a bad omen. But he had been so resistant to help, and so he couldn't blame Diana if she was the same. Still...when he heard Diana crying out in her dream, it had chilled him. For one thing, it hadn't sounded like she was winning her fight. Perhaps she was thinking of her mother...

Then, as if on cue, a faint crying came from the next room over.

"Oh, no, I woke Jon," moaned Diana. She tossed the remaining covers aside and reached for one of Clark's old XXL t-shirts, hanging over a chair. "I'll see to him."

"No, I'll take care of him. It's almost five, I should be getting up anyway. You get some more sleep. We have our big meeting with the Justice League today."

Diana reluctantly lay back down on the bed, watching as Clark got up and disappeared out of sight into the other room. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to Clark patiently soothing Jon. She thought about Clark's words, wondering if it could be true that she was suffering from trauma. If anyone else but Clark would have suggested that, she would have coldly brushed them off, but he knew her better than anyone else in the world, and she trusted his wisdom. The battle on Themsycira had robbed her of her people, her friends, and her mother; the strange Alarians had taken her prisoner and humiliated her. Did she wish revenge? Perhaps she did. Although she had committed herself to the ways of peace and protection rather than war and retaliation, many years ago, the urge was still there. Of course, there was no one to take revenge on. The Alarians and their strange King - Bruce's relative - were unreachable in another dimension, forever sealed by his dream-magick. There was nothing she could do. Maybe that was why she was feeling stressed. She wouldn't go as far as think she was traumatized.

Or perhaps it was recent events, and what they had agreed to take on. Either way, Diana had felt unusually restless, and in the past she would have exercised to banish it from her mind, but now she was a mother, and couldn't just disappear for days to be alone. It was hard enough working at the League, but she wouldn't use the excuse of work responsibility to be absent from Jon's life. Her mother, Hera knew, had done that enough.

As the dream's vividness faded, Diana considered it more to just be a nuisance. She had already forgotten than Bruce was in her dream. She resolved to throw herself into the work of making this house habitable for the three of them (Hera also knew that it was a dump when they bought it), but she knew it would be a home. A good home. She was certain of it.

* * *

_Earth Orbit, Over Africa_

The Watchtower, high in orbit, kept watch over the Earth. The only individuals allowed on that particular space station were full-fledged members of the Justice League, or perhaps the occasional VIP or "guest" carefully screened by at least two senior members. There was too much valuable (and dangerous) technology floating about the place, for "casual visitors" to be admitted. Everyone who set foot on the station had to have a good reason for being there, and be on some kind of official business.

Everyone, thought Bruce Wayne, except for one person.

A commotion outside the quarterdeck drew Batman's attention away from his inspection of the logs. He was already in a partially sour mood because he had asked J'onn J'onzz to help him research British rocket experimenters of the mid-twentieth century. J'onn had in fact done some half-hearted work towards that on his last shift, but Bruce saw that the damned Martian had mostly spent his time looking at cat videos on the Internet and streaming up episodes of _Orange is the New Black_. Was he the only one who took any of this seriously? He was thinking of giving J'onn a reprimand, but then he heard the loud noises coming from the alcove where he maintained his workstation. Immediately, he could tell what it was: Superman and Wonder Woman had arrived, and they had brought their kid with them.

Of course, a child aboard this highly secret and secure facility was an uncommon sight but evidently not an unwelcome one, Bruce realized: the Justice League members present clustered around the couple, cooing and complimenting the baby, who was held securely on Diana's chest.

"I can't believe he's gotten so big!" Huntress said admiringly. "How old is he now?"

"14 months and 8 days...I think," Clark smiled proudly. Actually, he had had some difficulty matching up Themysciran time with Earth time.

Jon, positioned face first in the carrier on Diana's chest, took a quick glance at the unfamiliar people around him, then he quickly buried his face back in her chest, not looking at anyone.

"Hah, he's shy!" Shayera exclaimed in amusement. Diana nodded.

"He's not used to that many people yet. He does like animals though. Any kind."

"Well, he'll have to get used to all his uncles and aunties," Oliver grinned. He tried to get Jon's attention, making goofy faces, but Jon was having none of it, trying to burrow deeper into his mother.

While Diana stood and chatted with Hawkgirl and Huntress, Clark looked around. Batman stood aloof as usual, just watching them, his black mask rendering his face expressionless. It was always difficult to guess exactly what the man was thinking; Clark never knew another human being who could so effectively mask even his body physiology so that it didn't give away whether he was nervous or excited. No doubt Bruce had trained himself to be like that.

But one thing he did know – despite all his eccentricities and strangeness, Bruce was a friend. He had helped them in Themyscira; without it, they would have never made it out of Carcosa alive. But how much had the experience affected him? Clark wasn't sure. For a time, just after their return, Diana would hardly speak to him (privately, she had admitted to him that she had suspected his cousin might have possessed him, "Who knows the tricks of that black magician?") but that was only a brief spell.

Bruce finally walked up to him, extending his hand. Clark took it firmly; early in his life he had learned how to shake a man's hand without breaking the bones.

"Thank you for calling this meeting on such short notice," Clark began. "I know it's inconvenient..."

"Nothing is 'inconvenient' when it comes from Superman," Bruce murmured. "Besides I have some news of my own I need to share with the others."

"I...hope it's not bad news," Clark wondered at the rather more-than-usual grim look in his friend's eyes.

"Well, it's not good...but it's nothing to do with League business. How is Jon?"

"He's great, he's healthy and strong," Clark hesitated a moment, wondering if Bruce's question had another intent. "He hasn't displayed any powers yet. He probably really won't until he gets older. He's just stronger than other one-year olds."

"Good..that's good, Clark," Bruce said noncommittally. "Are you finished moving?"

"Almost. Still a few more boxes to unpack. We'll have to have you out for a visit."

"Mmm, yes," Bruce glanced at Diana again. She was still talking to the others, and hadn't looked his way yet. "Well, let's get this meeting started."

The conference room was situated in an area of the station which typically held a glorious, panoramic view of the Earth. Otherwise, it was really no different than any other room in a Wayne Enterprises office. Each seat had its own 3D tablet. Today, Clark thought, there was almost a full house. The Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, and Cyborg were there. Also Huntress, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Huntress, Hawkgirl and Hawkman. Shazam wasn't there, since today was a big testing day at school, and Bruce had refused his request to skip class. Zatanna Zatara wasn't there either; her absence was noticed by the others.

"Where's Zatanna?" Ollie asked.

"She couldn't make it today. I'll have more to say about that later," Bruce said, his voice already businesslike and to the point. "First, Superman has called this meeting, so I'll let him start."

"Thank you all for coming," Clark said, nodding at everyone. "I know this is short notice, but I wanted to give you some news...I'm not quite sure if it affects any of you, actually, but I think it may be significant enough in another way."

"Another superbaby on the way?" Flash winked. Batman shot him a curt look, as if to tell him to speak only when spoken to.

"No, not yet," Clark grinned, then his expression turned serious, drawing in their attention. "But it is kind of a family nature. I'll explain."

He began by describing what had happened in the past week, the visit by General Lane. Bruce, Diana noted, was paying very close attention.

"My uncle was a Special Forces soldier, a Green Beret. Back in the early 1970s, when the Vietnam War was still on, the U.S. Army sent certain units out into the other countries surrounding Vietnam, like Laos and Cambodia, maybe Thailand. They were like Black Ops, sent out on search-and-destroy missions to wipe out VietCong strongholds, kill top Communist leaders and sympathizers. He belonged to one of those units, they parachuted into the highlands of Laos, their particular mission was to try to link up with a tribe that might be friendly to Americans, but they were never seen again and presumed lost. My parents got a telegram - they didn't always notify next-of-kin in person like they did now - and later, a flag. No personal effects were returned, they thought it was the end of it. Until a month ago, some German tourists came across a man who wandered into their path, who spoke English and some other language they didn't know. He was delirious and raving, they said. Somehow, they managed to get him to local authorities, who notified the Red Cross."

"Wow, that's...incredible!" Hal looked excited, almost thrilled. "I haven't heard anything on the news yet?"

"No, it's been kept out of the media, for now."

"But this is huge!" Dinah spoke up. "I have friends who are really involved in veterans issues, they're bikers who ride with a Vietnam vets' group, I know they would would love to do some kind of homecoming!"

"Um, I don't know-"

"You don't know?" Dinah was astonished. "Man, people have always thought we never brought all our guys back home, and here is proof! We should do something for him, it's the very least..."

"That's very interesting," Bruce interrupted, watching both Diana and Clark closely. "I suspect that there is more to this story, that warrants League attention?"

Clark took a deep breath, paused. Everyone around the table stared at him, wondering what else there was.

"Yes. I saw General Lane two days ago. He gave me more information about what they found out. It seems something happened to my uncle when he was missing. There's more to it than just some old soldier walking out of the jungle. Whatever he found, he found something incredible. Something…that made him stop aging."

That made everyone sit up and pay attention. Wide-eyed looks were exchanged around the table.

"What do you mean?" Flash said in astonishment. "Stop aging?"

"Whatever happened to him, it seems he hasn't technically stopped aging completely," Clark clarified. "But something's dramatically slowed down his aging process. He looks like a 45 year-old man, when he should look 75 at least. It's not just his looks, it's affected his cellular level too."

Clark passed three photos to the other members. One a studio portrait photograph of Sergeant David Kent, in dress uniform, the same one that was in Jonathan Kent's scrapbook. The other was a photo of David Kent in drab green jungle fatigues, posing with another Green Beret and an Asian man, who may have been an interpreter, all three standing in the jungle.

The last photo was clearly recently taken. It showed a middle-aged man, clad in a hospital gown, staring blankly into the camera. He had thinning blonde hair but clearly the same man in the other two photos, the same chiseled jaw.

"David Kent was 32 when he disappeared in Laos, in 1974," Clark added in a strained voice. "He would have been 72 this year."

"Well, this is clearly not a 72-year-old man, unless he has exceptional genes," Aquaman muttered. "What could have done this? We don't have anything in Atlantis like this. Some kind of special serum? Magick, or-"

Hal Jordan shrugged. "Hell, maybe he found the Fountain of Youth. Maybe we should look for it," he looked at Clark. "What did the Army find out? I assumed they did some kind of debriefing."

"General Lane wouldn't talk about that too much," Clark said. "He only said it was a 'mystery they're still investigating. When I pressed him, he just said it's 'classified.'"

"The usual 'official' answer. I'm surprised they haven't kept him locked up and out of sight," Flash said. "That they even told you."

"That's another thing, that you should know," Clark said. "General Lane said they when they first talked to him he was delirious, raving, speaking in a language none of them could determine. It wasn't Laotian, or Vietnamese, or any language of that area. They think it may be some dialect of the the people he was sent to find. Eventually he seemed to calm down, and respond to treatment. But he wouldn't say where he had been all these years, or what had happened to him. He claimed he couldn't remember, and that he only wanted to be back with his family. Technically, as far as anyone knows, I'm his only family left."

An uncomfortable silence followed, as the implications dawned on them.

"That's why they told you all this?" Hawkman sounded skeptical. "If they wanted him to talk they would make him."

"I don't know," Clark stared down at the table. "I suspect there's a lot more Lane isn't telling me."

"Can't you get that Lois Lane woman to tell you?"

"The general doesn't share top secret information with Lois," Diana said in exasperation, glaring at Hal. "But I agree with Clark - there's something the Army is keeping back. That's why they asked him to take in David Kent in our home."

Astonished mutterings at that; Bruce glared around the table until they shut up. "You agreed to this?"

"What could I do? He's my uncle."

"You don't have an uncle," Bruce pointed out. "This man could be dangerous-"

"What?" Dinah blurted out. "I don't believe I'm hearing this! No matter what's happened to him, he's a hero, and he needs to be welcomed home!"

Bruce ignored her. "The Army will be watching your home constantly, you know. Your family will be under 24-hour surveillance."

"You don't think I know that?" Clark stared at him. "I'll do what I can to make sure they don't bug our home. We'll be careful."

Bruce looked at Cyborg. "This may be the cause for the chatter we picked up."

"What?" Hal threw up his hands. "You didn't tell us about any chatter!"

"We didn't know what it was yet," Bruce snapped. "But now it's definite A.R.G.U.S. and the Army are working together on this. Something this out of the ordinary would come under their purview."

Bruce stared hard at all of them. "Who knows what he was doing in the past 40 years? Who or what he was with? Or even what his real orders were? He could be a very dangerous man."

"I don't think he could be dangerous to me. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going to take David Kent in. I know he's not related to me at all, but he's Jonathan Kent's brother. I owe my father that, at least." He stared meaningfully at Bruce, who seemed to concede. He only asked:

"When is he going to be at your place?"

"In two weeks, pending further medical tests," Clark replied. "As far as the Army can tell, other than the slowed aging, he's fine. No injuries, other than dehydration when he was initially examined by the Red Cross. I also had to give them copies of the medical 'paperwork' that you made for Diana and Jon and me, to prove we're not contagious."

Chuckles sounded around the table, and Bruce scowled.

"I still don't like it but I supposed it can't be helped. You won't be able to participate fully if there's any League emergencies."

"Damn, Batman, is that all you can think of?" Dinah shook her head. "No matter what's happened to him, he should be recognized. Superman, Wonder Woman, whenever you think the time is right to do a celebration for David Kent, you let me know! We'll have something up."

"Thanks, Canary," Clark smiled.

"But Batman's right, we're gonna be missing you again," Hawkman grunted. "Where's Zatanna been?"

"That's the other news I wanted to report on," Batman said shortly, and explained about John Constantine's 'indisposed' condition. "For now he is hospitalized indefinitely at Ravenscar."

"What?" There were a few shocked gasps around the table.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Hal muttered in aside to Aquaman, who suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"What happened?" Shayera asked, astonished. Although she herself never really cared for him, this was still disturbing news.

"He was trying to summon something similar to what we encountered on Themyscira. He made a mistake. He may never recover."

"But what about Zatanna?" Dinah demanded. "What about her? Was she with him...when 'it' happened? Is she all right?"

"She is going to be off on a separate assignment until further notice."

"That didn't answer my question! Is. She. All. Right?"

"Yes," Batman replied, gritting his teeth. "She's fine. But she'll be busy. That's all you need to know, unless she deigns to tell us more."

"What a bunch of crap, all that magick stuff," Hal complained to no one in particular. "Why do people muck about with that?"

"Power, knowledge, wealth," Arthur shrugged. "The usual suspects."

"Waste of time!"

The rest of the meeting was taken up with further back and forth between Dinah and Bruce, then old items such as scheduling and Watchtower maintenance. Jon finally expressed some of his boredom and began wailing, signaling a welcome end to the proceedings. Batman took the opportunity to vanish back to his alcove, after letting Clark know that he would want to talk to him 'privately' later.

Afterwards, Clark and Diana took their places in the Watchtower quarterdeck for the beginning of their shift. Jon had been left with Ollie and Dinah, who were thrilled at the opportunity to watch him in their quarters during the 12-hour period. When they were alone, Clark said to Diana:

"You think I did the right thing in telling everybody?"

"Of course you did," Diana assured him. "This is an unusual event, they should know. There's something going on with that, and the League can help uncover it."

"But is it something...bad?" Clark looked away. "Bruce seems to think it is, that it's some kind of danger for us. He'll want to be all over this, you know."

"I told you Bruce is an old woman!" Diana insisted. "Dinah thinks this is something wonderful, and it can be. Even if David Kent was a...a difficult person when he was younger, that was 40 years ago. He was through something...traumatic, too. We can help him, all of us."

Clark was silent a moment. "Yes, you're right. We'll get the house looking good, then we'll welcome him home."

A thought occurred to Diana. "Are you going to tell Lois about this?"

"Why?"

"She could pester her father for information! Plus, I think her mother, Ellen, would be very helpful too. She is turning out to be a big help to the new Society."

"Oh, well...I'll think about it," Clark wasn't sure about telling Lois anything about his personal life. But they would need help if it were true General Lane was holding back on them.

He reached out and grasped Diana's hand as she sat beside him. "I'm so happy you are here with me," he said. "I couldn't do this without you."

Diana smiled, contentedly. "Of course, it has always been so."

_To be continued..._

* * *

**[A/N: A lot going on here for Clark and Diana, but the Justice League will be behind them? But what is Zatanna's assignment? What is Aquaman hiding? And does Diana's dream mean anything, or is it only stress, as she thinks, or something more...ominous?**

**As always, thanks for reading and please review! **

**Also, excited to see the new WW constume and Gal Gadot looks great in it! I imagine her fighting just like in the dream-sequence! Hope you all liked it too!]**


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada_

Las Vegas: the glittering neon lights and glowing billboards of the world's entertainment capital flashed even in the brilliant desert morning; the ringing bells of the casinos/funhouses went on constantly, 24/7, never sleeping, perpetually on a mission to separate dollars from tourists.

Some miles away Nellis Air Force Base preoccupied itself also with a continual mission: that of monitoring worldwide air and space for threats. Several squadrons of fighter planes were stationed there, and warplanes taking off and landing on its airstrips were a familiar sight to locals. Other buildings, silos, hangers, and radar stations provided support and command and control. Its perpetual mission was one of defense, and death from above, if necessary. Yet despite the immensity of its firepower, no one paid the place much mind, so intent as visitors were on the follies and delights of Lost Wages.

Not in the mood for delight, General Sam Lane stormed down the long sterile corridor of one especially nondescript building, the few personnel present quickly moving out of his way as he headed towards its far end. A few stared curiously in his direction – it wasn't common to see an army general in their area. Lane ignored them. His mind was preoccupied with the reports he'd recently received and read - many times over. At the moment felt he didn't need this kind of bullshit on top of the issue he was currently dealing with. This circus he was assigned to was going to change, if he had any say in it, and he intended to.

It also didn't help his mood that he'd just gotten an email from Lois, asking if he would confirm a "tip" for her: was it true that that an American POW had been found alive in Southeast Asia? It would do wonders for her blog if she could be the first to break the news, it would be historic, Internet-breaking.

Break the news! What she that out of her head? He suspected that Clark Kent had probably been the source of the tip, despite his sternest order to not reveal the news of Sergeant David Kent's recovery to anyone, even Lois, although it was true that Lois was always very good at ferreting out secrets she had no business knowing. General Lane also thought she had zero business appearing in some schlock movie which she'd taken it in her addled head to do. When his daughter told him it was one of the _Titans Against Rome _films, he was even more alarmed – not only were they very violent and raunchy, they were very popular with the military. He didn't care for his only child being ogled on screen by the same young men under his command, which would undoubtedly happen. He only hoped to God Lois would not embarrass the family name and appear in a nude scene. He couldn't help but wonder if Kent had even encouraged her to do it – if so, he would be sorely tempted to punch that little pansy in the face the next time he saw him!

Lane could feel his blood pressure rise just thinking about Clark Kent, so he slowed his pace and took a moment to calm himself, as much as he was able, before he reached his destination – a single office tucked at the end of the corridor.

The A.R.G.U.S. office wasn't clearly designated as such, of course. The label outside the door actually read "Reserve Pilots Outgoing Medical Records Room" an appropriately dull sounding name. That, and the fact that the office was far away from the break room and the toilets guaranteed that there would be few visitors, even accidental ones. It was A.R.G.U.S. policy to maintain an office in every military base in the United States…and even some foreign ones.

General Lane didn't bother knocking. He opened the door and walked in, seeing an equally dully furnished office, occupied by only two people: a youngish black woman seated behind a nearly empty desk and an older man with close-cropped iron-gray hair (like his), dressed in a white lab coat, reviewing some file he was holding. They both looked up as he entered, apparently unsurprised.

"Good morning General Lane," Waller was the first to speak. Her voice was calm and pleasant. "Thank you for arriving promptly."

She looked at the physician, a man the general didn't know. "That will be all, Dr. Fenderbrake."

"Yes, Ms. Waller," the older man took the file from her, and closed it. From where Lane was standing he couldn't see what was in it.

"General," the doctor nodded to him as he walked past the silently fuming officer and exited the office, shutting the door behind him.

"I assume from your expression you want to discuss the Superman case?" Waller said as soon as they were alone.

"Why wasn't I told about this earlier?" General Lane demanded angrily. "The information you gave me in the so-called 'updated' file is almost a year old!"

Waller shrugged, a gesture that Lane despised in his junior officers, and would reprimand them harshly if they did it. But of course Waller was not his junior. She was something else altogether.

"It wasn't considered relevant to include it at the time."

"Not relevant!" Lane could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I'm responsible for overseeing the Superman situation, and you decide that this…this development is not relevant! I should have been informed at the first instance!"

"Well, General, a decision was made beyond your pay grade, and before you were assigned to us, to…ignore the 'offspring' as such, for the time being," Waller stood up and walked around her desk. She was about four inches shorter than Lane, dressed in a very professionally and severely cut black business suit. "That order still stands. The child is not to be interfered with in any way, only observed for the present. Neither are the parents."

Lane clearly looked disapproving, to say the least, Waller thought. He doesn't want to hear that. What he wants most of all is to take action to eliminate the Superman threat, and the Justice League. Good. That will make him easy to manipulate.

"That thing is the offspring of the two most powerful beings on the planet, and as such it is clearly a potential threat to the security of this nation, if not the world itself. You should have acted to secure it the moment you learned of its existence! This is absurd!"

"You should have maintained control of the Superman creature when you did have him secured," Waller countered. "Now, however I imagine you would have found it quite difficult to abduct its baby."

"I should have had that creature castrated," Lane rubbed his forehead in frustration. "This…this makes everything doubly difficult, you know, and who knows how more there could be?"

Waller only shrugged again; maybe she was deliberately trying to annoy him, Lane thought. Why had this woman ever been put in a position of authority? Just another civilian causing more problems that he would likely have to clean up. If this was the way things were going to be managed at A.R.G.U.S...there would need to be some sort of change.

"Yes, perhaps you should have, but you didn't. Superman escaped your custody," Waller replied. "Anyway, the CinC didn't want to provoke an incident with the Justice League, especially following the Black Star Day event and what they did. Their popularity remains at an all-time high, so we have to live with things as they are."

Lane clenched his hands. "A threat is still a threat no matter it's damn 'popularity!' Where is this creature now?"

"We suspect that Superman has always had a secure location - a Fortress - where he resides when not in the public eye. Presumably Wonder Woman is there too, and the offspring (by the way, we gave it a code name, you'll find it in the file). We suspect that it is somewhere either in the Arctic or..."

"I know all that, we are still searching for it," Lane said impatiently. "But why show me this now?"

"So you can be informed…things can always change," Waller said pointedly. "If an opportunity should in any way...present itself, then we should take full advantage of it. We can always prepare reasons later. I'm sure you understand."

Lane nodded, not entirely mollified. "Of course. I only hope it isn't a mistake to wait. But that isn't why I want to talk to you. It's about the Kent case."

Waller nodded. "Oh yes, our returned soldier. Has he made any progress?"

"He's better...if you can call it that. He hasn't attacked his guards again, and he hasn't made any more attempts to escape. The VA is going to be paying out some disability pay for years just for that. He seems to have calmed down once we started the medication regimen recommended by your doctor. He's remembered some of his personal history. He responds to his name and rank. But he still can't remember what happened, or where he's been for the past 40 years. Or he says he can't. He only wants to be discharged."

"Do you believe him?"

Lane hesitated a moment. "The psychologists do...and I've talked to him personally. I believe him, too, I don't think he's hiding anything." Lane looked at Waller. "What has Star Labs to say about his slowed aging?"

"They can't narrow it down to any definite cause, but there may be some evidence of cellular tampering. Something has been introduced into his system, that's the only thing that's certain."

Lane's eyes narrowed. "What could it be? A virus? Or something...alien?"

Waller laughed. "If only! A contagious virus that extends life instead of destroying it, wouldn't that be a change! I'm afraid not. If it's alien it's very well hidden. We'll still need to monitor him."

"I know. We're going to discharge him next week, into the custody of his only remaining family member, Clark Kent. He lives in California."

"This Clark Kent," Waller mused thoughtfully. "What do you know of him?"

"He's a lib journalist," Lane grunted, and Waller took note of his disapproving tone. "He works for my daughter, they both were employed by the _Daily Planet _in Metropolis_._ He's written about social justice issues, homelessness, antiwar pieces, typical stuff for a lib. He's married, has a kid. No history of substance abuse or other problems. He's clean."

"A family connection," Waller almost smiled, or rather smirked. "I assume you've asked for assurances not to blab prematurely?"

"Of course!" Lane glared at her, deciding not to mention Lois' email. "He seems very protective of this uncle, even though they're not biologically related. He's agreed to house his uncle at his home."

"Where does he live?"

"He has a house in Orange County, a place called Olivos Canyon. It's in a mostly rural area. It'll be ideal, easy to monitor, no nosy neighbors."

"Mmm," Waller walked away from the desk, stood staring at the wall for a moment. The only thing on it was a map of the United States. "Do you think David Kent's dangerous? I read his personnel file. Arrests as a teenager for theft and fighting. Not much better after he joined the Army: brawls with other soldiers in bars, once actually hit a superior officer. I'm surprised he wasn't court-martialed for that one."

"It was Vietnam," Lane said quietly. "Lucky the man didn't get fragged. But in all other aspects Lane was an outstanding soldier and Green Beret..."

"Who bragged about how fun it was to kill 'gooks' and collect 'trophies,'" Waller stared at the general. "If he's still in combat mode like that, he shouldn't be discharged. You said that Mr. Kent has a wife and kid?"

"Sergeant Kent's never spoken about the war while we've monitored him. He hasn't talked at all about his past, other than to plead to be reunited with his family. He doesn't remember, I tell you. He'll be all right."

"Very well, I'll defer to your judgement, General Lane. But just remember it will look bad if there is an 'incident' when he's released, or if this Kent starts talking about his uncle out of turn. I trust you'll be observing him." Waller said sharply.

"We will," Lane said firmly. "We'll learn what's happened to him. Don't worry about the Kents - I'll take care of them."

* * *

_Orange County, California_

Bruce Wayne drove down the highway in a new Tesla Model S (albeit a rental provided by his company). Although it was almost afternoon rush hour, the traffic wasn't too onerous and he was able to make good time once he was away from the Los Angeles Airport and heading down the 405 Freeway. He didn't rely on his onboard GPS – he considered them mostly unreliable, and anyway he had already memorized the directions to the Kents' new home. The gorgeous weather did not particularly impress him nor did the endless subdivisions of virtually identical multistory homes and rows upon rows of box stores and boutiques malls; all very pleasant and upper-middle-class but eerily too identical to one another.

He kept driving, uneventfully, until he began taking exits, down a 'Los' this and a 'Canyon' that, until finally the strip malls dwindled and disappeared altogether as he drove further inland, and rolling hills of orange and brown replaced the strip malls and rows of stucco houses. Soon, he found himself on a two-lane road, and then he knew he was close. He made a right turn down an unmarked asphalt road, which gradually turned to dirt, although flat and relatively smooth. The smell of fertilizer drifted in through his open windows and he wrinkled his nose.

Eventually he turned a curve and he saw it. A single-story home with a wide front courtyard, vaguely suggesting the Colonial Spanish style of the American Southwest. Building supplies and other materials were stacked here and there, and he pulled up and parked next to a rented dumpster already piled full of broken wood, crumbly cinderblocks and weeds. As he got out of his car, blinking in the bright uncomfortable (for him) sunlight, he heard a familiar voice call out.

"Hey Bruce!"

He looked up and saw Clark on the roof of the house, which he was evidently in the process of re-tiling. It always took him aback slightly to see this incredibly powerful alien dressed so casually as a human: an old and stained college t-shirt, cargo pants, and sneakers, a ball cap with its brim shading his face. He wouldn't have looked at all out of place in one of the shopping centers he'd passed on the way here.

Bruce waved in gesture of acknowledgement, as Clark climbed down the ladder from the roof. Ladder?

Clark grinned as he took his friend's outstretched hand, noting Bruce's surprise. "I have to be mindful not to drop hint of my powers, especially when guests could be dropping by. Appearances' sake, you should know all about that! I had to go buy it at the Home Depot. I'm sure I'll probably use it only once or twice."

"Stage dressing," Bruce agreed, and took another look around the place. From his vantage point he couldn't see any neighbors, although he knew there were at least three other houses down the same road. There was nothing but a big brown dirt patch in front of the house, and trees beyond the road, and orange groves. To the far right side Bruce saw a smaller secondary building set a little back, which at first he thought was the storage shed.

"That's where my uncle will be staying," Clark explained. "I had to practically tear it down and re-build it from scratch. The old owners used it to store their methamphetamine-making chemicals. Nice, huh? At least all the toxic bits were cleaned up before we bought the place. You should have seen what it used to look like! Diana and I have done a lot of clean up, but it's finally looking better."

Privately Bruce thought the place was still slightly better than ramshackle (he had company guest cottages bigger than this) but he complimented Clark on the work, seeing how much pride Clark had invested in the place. "Where's Diana?"

"She's out back, with Jon. The backyard looks much nicer than out here. Come on, I'll show you."

Bruce saw that Clark was right - the rear of the house really was much nicer, and did resemble a Spanish courtyard, or at least it must have been the original architect's plan. It also possessed a great view of the hills and fields beyond. He could see sunflowers growing there. He could be imagining it, but Bruce thought he could catch a whiff of sea air, although they were too far inland to have any view of the Pacific. It almost, Bruce thought, reminded him of Themyscira. Maybe that was why Clark and Diana decided to pick this "fixer-upper."

He saw Diana sitting at the canopied patio table, Jon in her arms. A pitcher of lemonade was set on the table, and some cucumber sandwiches with a bowl of salad. Like Clark, she was also dressed very casually, in a light cotton blouse and skirt with open-toed sandals, showing her legs and feet to great effect. She looked very elegant and very beautiful. Less an Amazon than an Orange County housewife, which, Bruce guessed, she technically was, although it might be worth his head to say that out loud.

"Bruce," Diana said, and Bruce thought he caught a hint of mocking in her tone. He realized he must have been staring.

"Diana," Bruce said as casually as he could, feeling slightly embarrassed. "You look great...this place is..."

"Not so much, eh?" She laughed, she couldn't help but enjoy seeing Bruce discomfited. Even here he was so formal, dressed as if he was going to a business meeting! "Come, sit down and have something to eat."

Bruce joined Clark and Diana at the table, once again aware that he was sitting with possibly the two most powerful being on the planet...and they were having salad.

_ Three_, he thought, _if you counted the potential of Jon Kent._

"I don't think we've ever had you over for a visit," Clark remarked, heaping romaine and baby tomatoes onto Bruce's plate. "It's way overdue."

"It's not entirely a social call, is it Bruce?" Diana added, glancing knowingly at him.

Bruce stirred uncomfortably in his chair, and Clark glanced at the two of them, looking back and forth.

"We can talk about that later," he said. "Let's just eat lunch first."

For the next half hour, talk was kept to a discussion of the house remodeling ("mold everywhere"), the vicissitudes of Orange County and California in general ("It's so different from Metropolis!") and baby Jon ("He almost said 'dada' yesterday!"). As Bruce sat and ate and listened, it occurred to him that he had never seen Clark so relaxed. At the Hall of Justice and the Watchtower he was friendly, or polite, but there was always a hint of reserve about him, accentuated by the fact that he often hovered with his boots just off the floor while everyone else stood. He rarely showed his anger or rage, except in a fight, and Bruce could count the number of times on one hand when he saw Clark afraid (the affair in Carcosa had been one, Doomsday another). When he was in the public eye as Superman, he was always the epitome of manners, earning him the appellation of "big blue Boy Scout" by both friends and enemies, but Bruce somehow always knew it was part of his outward persona - not that it was fake, not at all, but that he knew it was how he wanted people to see him, not as a threat or a danger, but someone they could rely on, a hero. Yet the people of Earth didn't know him as well as the Justice League did...or the people around this table.

Here, Bruce thought, in this backyard lit by warm natural light and fresh air, with people who loved him, Clark could be himself.

Strangely, the thought troubled him, rather than set him at ease. He had never felt like that, perhaps, even in Wayne Manor, or with Alfred.

Diana seemed to sense his unease, although he was doing his best to hide it. He noticed that she was watching him closely throughout the meal, and wondered what was bringing on this scrutiny. For a time after their return from Themyscira Diana would not let him even near the baby, threatening him with all sorts of gruesome bodily injury if he so much as laid a finger on Jon; this had quickly passed (thanks to some intervention by Clark, Bruce suspected) and Diana had even apologized for her bad temper. Yet Bruce wondered if she had ever really forgiven him for what he had done there, even if he had helped save Jon in the end.

But Diana surprised him: "Would you like to hold Jon for a minute, Bruce? I have to go get his bottle."

"Um...sure. Yeah."

In a rather crisp and businesslike manner, Diana deposited the baby in his arms, and Bruce found himself staring into Jon's wide blue eyes while Diana disappeared into the house. He was heavier than the last time he'd held him. Jon's curiosity only lasted a few seconds, then he became preoccupied with the stalk of celery he was playing with. He looked over Jon's head and saw Clark grinning at him again.

"What are you smiling about?" Bruce demanded.

"Oh, I'm just hoping he won't set your hair on fire. We had to replace the drapes twice," Clark laughed at Bruce's stunned look. "I'm just joking. He hasn't done anything like that...yet, anyway."

"Hmm," Bruce looked at Jon again, who was gumming the celery now, and grabbing at his $1200 sport coat with sticky hands. He looked like any other annoying kid, he thought. "How is Diana with this?"

Clark paused, realizing what Bruce was asking. "She's fine. She supports the idea. We can take care of David, until he recovers."

"What if he never recovers?"

Clark picked up his glass, held it thoughtfully. "We'll consider our options later. For now, we're going to set him up in the guest cottage. It has a bed, its own bathroom, air conditioning. We can put a TV in there if he wants it. I can work from home, I usually do anyway, so if David needs me I'll be here. Diana can still be on duty occasionally, if she needs too."

"You've thought everything out."

"As best I can," Clark said, a little defensively. "Two military people are coming tomorrow to inspect the house, they say they're doctors and want to ensure everything is-"

"They're A.R.G.U.S. They will install listening devices, cameras, so they can keep track of what is happening on this end."

"We'll be ready for them," Clark insisted. "I'll know what they've snuck in."

"Did you talk to General Lane again?"

"Yes. He wasn't happy. He thinks I might have tipped off Lois," Clark snorted. "He underestimates his own daughter."

"But don't underestimate him," Bruce urged. "He's working for A.R.G.U.S. now, for Amanda Waller. If she somehow links you to Superman, then she will know about Jon."

Clark's face tightened. "I won't let that happen. I won't let Jon be taken from me again..._ever_."

Diana came back at that moment; if she had overhead what they had said she gave no notice of it.

"Oh good, Uncle Bruce is still in one piece," she said sprightly. "Jon, what a good boy you are! Here, I have your reward."

Diana retrieved her son from Bruce, tossed his celery away, and thrust the bottle in his mouth when he started to bawl.

"So, Bruce," Diana remained standing, holding Jon while he sucked contentedly now on his bottle. "What have you dug up about Clark's uncle?"

"Cyborg and Flash went to scout the area where Sergeant Kent was picked up. It's a very remote area, even for tourists. This raises the possibility he was found, or wandered from somewhere else. There are very few inhabited areas, even by indigenous hill tribes. Flash did make contact with one group. They were very fearful and didn't want to talk at first, but of course Barry is very personable," Bruce's voice was slightly sardonic. "Finally, he got them to say a few words, which Cyborg translated. They've had few contacts with outsiders, especially Westerners. They don't remember a solitary white man in their area. But some of their elders shared an interesting legend among them.

During World War II, the Japanese occupied most of southeast Asia, including areas of Cambodia, which was then part of the French colony of Indochina. The elders related a tale that guerrillas were active in that area. The guerrillas were not a part of that particular hill tribe but another ethnic group, and in fact were feared and avoided by other tribes throughout that area, for some reason. The guerrillas became such a nuisance that the Imperial Japanese Army sent a battalion of troops against them to wipe them out. The entire battalion disappeared without a trace."

Clark and Diana listened intently, as Bruce continued. "Flash asked where that particular tribe was now. The elders either wouldn't or couldn't say, and the most Cyborg could translate was that the guerrillas had also disappeared, but they might have been saying that to just get them to leave."

Bruce leaned back in his chair. "Although this may just be a tall tale, since there's nothing verifying it in Japan's National Archives. But if it's true it's possible Sergeant Kent and his unit may have been sent out to find this tribe, to persuade them to join them and fight just as effectively against the North Vietnamese as they did the Japanese."

Diana and Clark exchanged glances. "Even if all this is true," Clark said slowly. "How does this explain what happened to David Kent?"

"I don't know - yet," Bruce admitted. "But Flash and Cyborg said that the whole tribe seemed to have a fear of this mystery people, that it was almost supernatural in nature somehow. They had charms against them. They had them everywhere in their village."

"Maybe it's something Zatanna can help with then." Diana said.

Bruce nodded. "I've already thought of that. She's already on it."

* * *

_To be continued..._

**[A/N: General Lane and Amanda Waller are up to no good, it is obvious, but whom is playing whom? How long will Diana and Clark's happy idyll last? Will Bruce ever relax? And what is Zatanna's secret "mission?" Tune in next chapter to find out! As always, your reviews are welcome, and thanks for reading! All characters owned by DC Comics (except Dr. Fenderbrake, my OC) but I'm still not making money off them, off him, or much off anything actually. LOL]**


	9. Chapter 8

[Zatanna-centric chapter!]

**Chapter 8**

_Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam_

The bustling Night Market of the capital of Vietnam, formerly Saigon, was a riot of noise, colors, and smells, as locals and foreign tourists descended on the bustling streets where shopkeepers and chefs hawked their wares, everything from tasty rice pancakes and noodle dishes, to cheap electronics, and stylish clothing and jewelry. The after-hours market was very popular and always crowded with people, eager and preferring to do their shopping in the cool of the night rather than in the hot and humid tropical day.

Dressed like any other Western tourist in jeans and a tight-fitting top, her lustrous black hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, Zatanna Zatara glided effortlessly through the narrow alleys, brushing unnoticed past both sellers and clientele. She occasionally browsed through the wares offered, took a bite or two of the grilled pork or the chilled mango on offer. She was both surprised and amused to see bootleg DVD copies of her Las Vegas shows up for sale (along with colorful and rather racy posters of her); however she wasn't really here for the shopping. No, she had other purposes for this particular visit to this former colonial capital, now a beacon of capitalism despite the nominally Communist government.

Gradually, she made her way through the narrow winding streets and alleyways, until she was some distance from the heart of the market, yet still within its radius. She paused at a nearby stall to purchase a large boba tea; then, she sat down by herself at a solitary table. Sitting alone and ignoring some of the curious looks of other tourists (including some solitary males trying to catch her eye), she sipped at her drink. She took out a small paperback book (a Lonely Planet travel guide) and idly leafed through it. Nothing in her expression or posture suggested her nervousness within, or the real reason for her being there.

Yesterday she and Batman had met in the Watchtower. Batman had been very explicit in asking her to be there, instead of the Batcave. Zatanna guessed the reason why, but kept it to herself.

"Cyborg and the others have determined that there is something unusual in Southeast Asia, where Sergeant David Kent was found, which may require a look into by someone of your particular skills," Batman had explained. "I want you to take the lead on this personally."

"That's quite a large area," Zatanna had replied, slightly testily. "And, unusual is a fairly broad term. Can't you be more specific?"

"Sergeant Kent and his team were ordered into the border regions of Laos to try to link up with the indigenous tribes there, those with a reputation for fierceness and toughness. Their mission was to persuade them to fight with the Americans against the Vietcong. It had worked before with the Hmongs, but the American government wanted more allies," Batman handed her a thumb drive with the relevant information. "Cyborg did some digging, and found the records that confirmed it but..."

"But what?" Zatanna asked, curious despite herself.

"There was no record of any authorized Green Beret or other Special Forces mission sent into that area. Whatever Sergeant Kent and the other four men of his team did, it wasn't at the bequest of the Army. They must have been under different orders, from a source even Cyborg couldn't uncover, or it is possible certain records were destroyed. Technically, they could have been listed as AWOL, or even deserters. There were some rumors, widespread at that time, that American soldiers went "native" into the bush. Even that whole platoons disappeared into the jungle, and later discovered working as mercenaries for the highest bidders. Most of those tales were just 'urban legend' material. But in this case, it was true. When Kent's team failed to return, someone made the decision to label them as MIA. No search was made, no inquiry. Very unusual even for black ops."

"Well, that's an interesting slice of history," Zatanna flipped the thumb drive in the air, caught it mid-air, and did a sleight-of-hand so that it vanished before Bruce's eyes. He blinked. "But why are you telling me all this? I would think Green Lantern, or the Flash, or maybe even you yourself - Gotham's favorite detective that you are! - would be better at solving this military mystery."

"There's more to this than some old war story," Batman explained, unwilling to be drawn into Zatanna's mockery. "Cyborg found a bit more. Sergeant Kent and his men were detailed to find a specific group of people. The tribe that Kent and his men were sent to find were called the Tcho-Tcho. Does that name sound familiar to you?"

Batman was watching her closely. Zatanna thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, that doesn't ring any bells for me. Why should it?"

"The Flash and Cyborg interviewed the elders of the hill peoples in that area. They gave us conflicting information. At one point they said the Tcho-Tcho were dangerous and hostile to outsiders, and we shouldn't try to find them. They also said they were not around anymore as they were wiped out by the Japanese during World War II. Some of then even denied there had ever been any tribe called Tcho-Tcho at all. But, Flash and Cyborg agreed that all the villages had many magical charms in their villages, designed to ward off these no-longer-existing Tcho-Tchos. I thought that-"

"There are many superstitions throughout the world," Zatanna shrugged. "Lots of stories of weird people. That doesn't mean there is real magick about..."

"Flash persuaded one of the village chiefs to give him one of their charms," Batman reached into his belt and pulled out a round black stone, smooth and glassy like obsidian. He showed it to her, holding it flat in his palm.

Etched on its surface, in faded gold, was a shape like a 6-limbed tree branch, with one of its limbs by the base noticeably missing. A fairly simple, harmless-looking design. Zatanna stared at it for a long moment, her face carefully expressionless.

"I see that you recognize it," Batman rasped. "So do I. It's what they call an Elder Sign, isn't it?"

Zatanna stared up at him and he saw anger in her face.

"The Elder Sign is a genuflection, it's not a rock! I'm surprised your cousin Carter didn't teach you that," she snapped. "You've been meddling in those books again, after what I warned you..."

"I just looked at the pictures," Batman replied drily. "Anyway, they're _my_ books. As I was saying, if the villagers had these around to ward the Tcho-Tcho off, then it means that those people really do exist, doesn't it? Does it mean that they're still out there?"

Zatanna said nothing, and Batman stepped closer to her, towering over her.

"If Kent really did find these people, what could they have done to him?"

"I told you I don't know-"

"Kent's back in America, he will be staying with Superman and Wonder Woman, and their child. You know about his mysterious lack of aging. If he's dangerous, _I_ need to know. We all do. Especially, if...if something like _this_ is involved. Something that's similar to what happened on Themyscira, and Smallville."

Batman paused, and then continued in a milder tone of voice.

"I know you're still grieving over Constantine. I understand that, I do. But, this is something that _needs_ investigating. Perhaps you can continue John's work, if he was truly trying to stop them. Honor him that way."

He had pressed the stone into her hand, and left. There wasn't much more to say after that, except for her to take on this assignment, even though it wasn't what she had planned for. Irritation rushed though her, and she snapped her guidebook shut.

The truth was she was not really irritated with Batman, who was only being his usual mercurial self. What had happened to John Constantine had upset her more than she cared to admit.

It wasn't because they had once been lovers. Despite Constantine's taste for tantric sex (of which he was quite excellent at), he'd proven to be an indifferent partner. He couldn't help it really, Zatanna knew it even when they had first met. Yes it was true he was selfish and conceited, but his devil-may-care personality, his wicked sense of humor and joking anti-authoritarianism, had almost made up for it. Almost. He was just meant for a solitary life, they'd both come to that conclusion. Still, they had parted as friends, even though sometimes competitors. He was also truly a great magician; even though not of the _homo magii_, his natural curiosity and great intelligence (even though he'd tried to hide it under his act of a Scouse rough lad) had propelled him to the heights of magick powers few of the _homo magii_ could attain.

So it had come as a huge shock to her that he'd been laid so low. It really shouldn't have been a surprise – it was beyond stupid for any human, even one of Constantine's great ability, to try to summon one of…of _them_, even a relatively innocuous one like the Render of the Veils.

But none of the Great Old Ones were truly harmless. Never, to humans, or to anyone. _They_ were out there, beyond the Great Veil, unseen by most people, even by the _homo magii_, who knew better than to try to summon them, or have any kind of contact with them. But they were still a threat to all humanity. What _they_ thought, what they wanted, it was something no one could possibly know, or if they even had thoughts and desires as sentient life forms did. The only certainty was that, if once the Great Veil was penetrated, it could never be repaired - like a breach in a dam _they_ would pour through and overwhelm everything in their path, just as uncontrolled floodwaters will deluge a sleeping village with no hope or chance of defense. Humanity would not even know what had destroyed them. The Great Old Ones were like the flood, uncaring what was in their path, hurtling onwards to some unknown and unfathomable purpose. But even that was not the true danger.

The true enemy, as the _homo magii_ had always known, were those evil humans who deliberately wanted to destroy the barrier, to tear asunder the Veil, whether for lust for power, or for the banal sheer madness of it, whatever they imagined the Great Old Ones could give them. It was their most cherished goal, to unleash "the holocaust of ecstasy and freedom," as it was written in one of the damned books Batman kept so carelessly in his library.

So as far as most of the _homo magii_ were concerned, Constantine had simply gotten what he had richly deserved for attempting to summon the Render of the Veils. He was either a fool or a madman, and a dangerous one at that, not even being one of the magickal race. Better for the world that he was now drooling senselessly in Ravenscar.

Zatanna refused to accept it. Constantine may have been reckless, foolish even, but she knew in her heart that he was not an evil man. If he had tried to summon Daoloth it was because he wanted whatever information such a summoning of the entity could provide, to do something with that cursed knowledge. Somehow, he believed that it was possible to do it and come out unscathed. Why not, he had been successful before, with lesser demons and other beings.

Zatanna was certain Constantine would not have attempted such a summoning without assurances that he could survive it. Someone must have provided those assurances. There was someone else involved, she knew it, someone who had kept his hands clean. It was maddening that no one would believe her – even Batman doubted her, but he was a suspicious old fart, that one. In fact, Zatanna thought, he could be the King of Suspicious Old Farts. She had told him, but she could tell he didn't really believe her. Constantine's own suspicious nature had effectively made him _persona non grata_ with the Justice League too.

She supposed that, now, she was Constantine's only friend left. That made it personal for her.

Zatanna knew there was little she could do to reverse Constantine's condition although she would try anyway. Even if he managed some kind of recovery, he would never be as other people were, and now he could not tell her who had led him to do what he did. But, she had no doubt in her mind that someone had convinced him to attempt the summoning, that he would be able to conduct it flawlessly enough to not see the entity's form. He had failed, tragically.

Someone, Zatanna was certain, had set John Constantine up. She was going to find out who had done it. Whoever it was, man or woman, would be wishing they had never been born, once she found them.

This was partly why she had taken on this assignment for the Justice League. Any whiff of the eldritch magick associated with the Great Old Ones might lead her to the person who had deceived Constantine. Those who knew of their existence was a minute few, and even fewer than that who had more detailed knowledge. Unfortunately, that number now included one Bruce Wayne, Zatanna thought uncomfortably. She would have to do something about that...

A tall and muscular woman approached the table where Zatanna sat wrapped up in her thoughts. The woman had fine, delicate features and clearly a blend of Western and Asian looks; although considered quite desirable in some circles, when she was born it was considered a mark of shame and hatred, which had shaped most of her life. For that reason (and a few others) she had dedicated herself to ensuring others experienced the pain she had experienced, when was brutalized and mistreated simply for being born of mixed parentage. But often these days she disguised her inner feelings very well, so that most people only saw a handsome woman, professional and discreet, approaching her fifties, yet still with the slender body of a woman half her age.

Most. Despite her distraction, Zatanna sensed her immediately.

"Cheshire," Zatanna said without looking up from her book. "So good of you to come, and on time."

The old experienced assassin sat down across from the magician, a slight smile playing on her full red lips.

"How could I turn down a request from the Mistress of Magic herself? I am only sorry I won't have the pleasure of seeing you perform in one of your shows." She spoke fluent, flawless English with the barest hint of European accent, her voice smooth and mild.

Zatanna finally looked up at her, wondering if this was a threat. But it seemed the other woman was only curious. She noted that she had a large purse over one shoulder.

She extended her arm and a rectangular piece of paper suddenly appeared in her hand. "A free pass, for whenever and wherever you wish to see me live. I promise you, you won't _ever_ forget it."

This was all warm-up before the main act, Zatanna knew, and so did Cheshire. Just a way for them to feel each other out, although Zee didn't think she'd particular care for Cheshire's feels. It wasn't long before they came to business.

"I must say I was surprised at your 'request.' Not many people dare to make a request of me. Still, with what you offered in return, it was too intriguing to pass up. Although for what purpose-"

"So that means you have what I want?"

Cheshire slowly and deliberately reached into her purse, retrieved a second bag, one made of a plain, heavy cloth. There was something substantial within the bag. She placed it on the table, not letting go of it.

"It really wasn't that difficult for me to acquire. A few inquiries here and there, some monetary exchanges, but not much. There are elderly veterans of the Vietnam War, who don't get quite the munificent benefits that you Americans do," she added derisively. "The _other_ items, well that was a little more work."

Zatanna reached for the bag, but Cheshire delicately pulled it back out of reach. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Just one thing: why is Batman interested in this?"

"What makes you think Batman is?"

"Give me some credit, Ms. Zatara, I may not have superpowers, but I can smell him all over this. I'm surprised you've become Batman's errand girl, of all people. Why is the Justice League putting its nose here?"

"The Justice League is not involved in this, this is a private matter, for _me_."

"You?" Cheshire sneered. "I would think all the business you would have here would be limited to peddling your "magic" show in the downtown bars."

Zatanna stared hard at Cheshire. _No time to get in a fight with her, _she thought to herself. _Remember why you're here. _

After a moment, the older woman relinquished her hold on the bag, as if it was of no real concern one way or the other.

"It's too bad about your friend, Constantine," Cheshire finally said. "I didn't know him, but his reputation preceded him, in many places."

_She thinks this is all about John, _Zatanna thought. _She thinks I want revenge. Well, that part is true._

"What you asked for you will find when you return to your home in Thailand," Zatanna replied. "It will be in the front hallway, in a large black box covered with customs stamps. _I_ wouldn't open it until after the sun has set, if you value what passes for your life."

Cheshire's eyes narrowed. She stood up abruptly, her metal chair grating against the concrete ground.

"Very well. I hope these little _souvenirs_ are what you wanted, though why you want them I have no idea, not that I particularly care. But if you and your League are thinking of doing something in this area, I would recommend caution. There are things here that you would not care to encounter. It might not be very healthy for anyone involved, including you, Ms. Zatara."

Cheshire walked away, not looking back. Zatanna didn't look into the cloth bag she'd left behind. She waited a few minutes, until the assassin was lost among the crowds, then she slowly got up and left too.

* * *

_One hour later, 11:35 PM, Warehouse_

Far away from the markets and the crowds, in a lonely warehouse converted to a series of local artists' studios, Zatanna began the magical working.

Lit only by the glow of candles placed around in specific areas (which offered a modest amount of illumination throughout the spacious studio) Zatanna outlined her magick circle with her special chalk - there was more than just chalk in it. The circle was where she would remain during the working. This was routine procedure for any spell, as almost every magickal working carried some element of risk, although slight. However, once the circle was finished, this particular working would not be so routine. Even though she had done this several times before, this would be slightly different from those in the past. She wasn't sure what she would see.

Once the circle and the designs within it were complete, Zatanna squatted down in the center and took from her pocket the small rounded stone that Batman had given her, and a sheet of thick photo paper, folded up. She put the stone on the ground and unfolded the photo, flattening it out on the floor. It was a photograph of David Kent, dressed in his green army fatigues, standing before a jungle backdrop. According to Batman, this was the last known photo taken of him before he'd disappeared.

Zatanna examined it for a minute. He looked like a tough, coldly competent soldier, blonde regulation haircut, chiseled jaw, broad muscles. She put it aside. She reached for the cloth bag Cheshire had left for her. She drew open the drawstring, and emptied its contents onto the ground.

A vial of soil from the Burmese highlands, where Kent reportedly vanished. A wadded piece of cloth, which Zatanna shook out. It was a faded green military blouse, spotted with large patches of old, dried blood. Dried sweat would be on it too, likely. There was a name tag on it - Myerlink. No other identifying patches. A Corporal Myerlink was one of the team members of Kent's unit. Supposedly retrieved somehow by a nameless Vietcong soldier much later when items had changed hands along the way - perhaps the Vietcong had paid bounties for the belongings of enemy soldiers. Maybe some Vietcong fighter had paid a Tcho-Tcho for the blouse. There was no way to be certain (but as she had implied, if Cheshire had cheated her, her little box-surprise would be quite unpleasant indeed) but that it had come from a wounded or dead man, Zatanna was certain. It had that particular stink on it. Blood would help in the ritual.

The last item was the most intriguing, however. A piece of bamboo bark, about five inches long. It was carved intricately in a design unlikely to be found in the tourist-trap shops. Etched along its smooth surface were black whorls and loops, created by rubbing charcoal into carved grooves. To most people, it would look like random scribbles, but to Zatanna's trained eyes she recognized it for what it was: the hieroglyphic writings of the Tcho-Tcho.

She had only partially lied to Batman when she said she'd never heard of the Tcho-tchos. In her own collection of magickal texts they were called the Chauchas, or Kau-chas. In those old grimoires they were described as an ancient Burmese hill tribe who "worshipped ancient gods and practiced abominable rites." Little more than that, other than examples of their "paleontological magick" also forbidden to the _homo magii_. Examples of their writing were provided but no translation, as if to warn future magicians of what to avoid, but it was hard to forget. As far as she knew, no one of her acquaintance had ever met a Tcho-Tcho. Frankly a lot of stuff written down in the old books was mostly crap, fanciful imaginings of ancient magicians who wanted to 'spice up' their grimoires and their own reputations, and she wondered whether half of what was written about them was even true. 'Abominable rites' could mean nothing more than smoking a a few special mushrooms. Or it could mean something else altogether.

But as to what this particular bamboo piece meant, or what it was used for, no one knew. But the accompanying scrap of paper with the bamboo stated:

"Fragment of ancient Tcho-Tcho altarpiece, estimated date early 19th Century."

Who had written this? The paper was old, the ink likewise, it was no forgery for the tourism trade. Had some explorer stumbled across an old, forgotten temple? Or had some luckless missionary found the Tcho-tchos themselves? Did Sergeant Kent and his men find some ancient lost city? Or the people - if they could be called that - themselves?

Zatanna would know by tonight.

She began the working.

_"Erif dna ekoms"_

Rare incense was lit from braziers that appeared and floated in the air, their scent wafted throughout the room as she recited the ancient words she knew by heart. She unscrewed the vial of dirt and flung the soil out beyond the circle.

_"Ecalp"_

She gripped the blooded shirt and held it out, as if to draw the smoke towards it. Although there was no wind in the room, the smoke began to be drawn towards the cloth.

_"Doolb"_

From her pocket, Zatanna took out a penknife; holding her hand out she made an incision, and let the cut drip fresh blood onto the blouse.

_"Nam"_

The smoke and light coalesced around the room, and Zatanna felt herself growing light-headed, slightly dizzy - this was only a temporary side-effect of the spell. The walls and ceiling and floor disappeared from sight, and she caught a whiff mountain air, rotting vegetation, and smells of human sweat. The room suddenly seemed to be larger, exposed to the elements. A shape began to coalesce out of the darkness. Zatanna spoke more words, their strange syllables rolling on her tongue. Shapes began to grow more distinct around her. Good, the spell was working. She hoped, through this working, to have a glimpse of what may have happened to Kent's team. She would see through their eyes, hear through their ears.

_"Tsap. Thgis dan dnuos."_

Zatanna felt herself going numb, and she couldn't feel her own body. This was an unsettling feeling, like being paralyzed, but it was only temporary. In the next second, sound and sight crashed in on her and she was momentary blinded by the startling bright white light. Heat and noise and light all battered at her senses, until it was overwhelming, too much sensory stimuli overloading her senses, and she cried out.

All was silent.

She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was bamboo. Bars of bamboo. She was imprisoned in a cage, so small she was unable to stand up in it. She touched one of the bars and saw a man's hand grasping it, one that was shaky and encrusted with grime. She was in some kind of improvised cell, outside. Beyond it she could see a clearing, a collection of small huts, round and with one oval opening in the center. Surrounding it was jungle, and a rock cliff that stretched high over their heads. She could see cave openings there. But when she tried to look up pain shot through her.

Pain was everywhere in her body: pain in all her limbs and her head, her back. She felt blood seeping from her chest, staining her uniform. Her body ached from being confined in this terrible prison, from insect bites and heat rash. She forced herself to remember it was the man Myerlink's pain she was feeling not her own. Then the smell, blood and excrement and sweat mixed in with a deeper, powerful scent she could not identify. It was heavy, like blood, but it wasn't blood.

"Joe! Look at me!"

She looked around at the hoarse whisper. There was another cage beside hers, just as small. There was a man in it, his damp blonde hair plastered to his sunburnt, gaunt face. His bloodshot eyes stared into hers, and she thought she must look the same as him. His name tag read KENT, and she recognized him from the man in the photograph, although the man before her looked at least a hundred pounds thinner. Strangely, she thought he looked a bit like Superman, although they had no relation. But although this man was battered, he looked angry more than defeated. She remembered he was a Green Beret.

Zatanna realized what had happened instantly: Kent's team had been attacked, and captured. Yet she didn't see their captors. As far as she could tell they were alone in this mountainous village. They had to be at some high elevation.

"Where-where are we?" She heard herself say. The man's voice was weak, barely audible.

"I don't know, man. They took Harrison away yesterday, he hasn't come back."

"This is crazy, man. I gotta get out of here, I gotta...gotta-"

She felt the man's panic and fear, it was a terrible sensation, but there was nothing she could do to calm him, could only feel what he did. The fact that he was likely to die soon, if from blood loss if nothing else, made it worse. That was why this ritual was so rarely performed, no sane person wanted to be in the body of a dying man.

"Shut up! Get a hold of yourself! Don't pussy out like Jones did!" Kent's voice was harsh, tightly controlled, the voice of command, despite his weakened state. Zatanna felt the soldier Myerlink respond instinctively.

"What are we gonna do?" The man's voice was plaintive, defeated and she saw Kent's mouth curl in a sneer.

"If we're gonna go out, we're gonna take some of the bastards with us. When they come for us..."

"What did they do to Jones?" Myerlink wheezed. "He was half-dead already...there was nothing they could tell them..."

Something in his voice made Zatanna realize that the men had been tortured too. She could _feel_ that. But there was something else here, other than some kind of vicious POW treatment. That smell...a sweetish, cloying smell like rotted fruit, only muskier somehow...she'd never smelled something like that before. There was something else here, she had to find it out, keep the spell going as long as she could stand it although it was making her feel sick.

"I don't know. I don't know where we are," there was a hint of hysteria beneath Kent's rigid control. "I don't know where they took us, I don't recognize this place."

"This was where we were supposed to go," Kent's voice dropped low. "A village high up, that was the rendezvous point."

"Rendezvous? Rendezvous with what?" Myerlink was suddenly agitated. "What did you know? You knew this was going to happen didn't you?"

"Keep your fucking voice down!" Kent hissed.

Zatanna felt herself rattling the bars of her cage in fury. "You sonofabitch! This isn't a CIA mission is it? I know what this is! That damned captain you were talking to, wasn't it? You brought us on a damned Delta-"

Suddenly, the clearing came alive. Zatanna looked up, shocked. People were coming out of the huts, out of the caves up on the rock cliff. The Tcho-Tchos.

Zatanna watched them out of Myerlink's eyes. They did not look particularly frightful...at first. They looked like any other Southeast Asian peoples, rather small and thin, and dark. Some of them even wore Western clothes: t-shirts and pants. Others were naked to the waist, their lower halves covered by sarongs. Most were barefoot. As she came closer, she saw that most of them were bald, and had pierced noses and ears and lips. That was nothing strange, plenty of people on a London night out could look like that.

But as some of them came closer, that awful stink grew stronger. It was almost overpowering and she felt Myerlink , Zatanna saw their faces more closely, and she recoiled.

Their eyes seemed to penetrate right through her. They were full of humor and secrets and unknown knowledge that would drive Western people mad. They were smiling.

Myerlink seemed to go mad. He rattled the bars of his cage and tried to stand up, banging his head against the top of the cage again and again as if he could break through it.

_In the middle of the circle, Zatanna's prone body twitched, her fists clenching and unclenching._

"Stop it!" She heard Kent shout but the man whose body she occupied kept struggling. The Tcho-Tchos watched silently, as if amused by the whole spectacle, like it was a command performance by a top artist.

Finally one of the Tcho-Tchos spoke, and although she didn't understand the word, somehow she knew what it meant. Myerlink also acted as if he knew and he froze in a rictus of fear.

One of the Tcho-Tcho were leading another person out of one of the huts, a taller man, clearly a Westerner. Two of them led him towards the cages, holding him by the arms.

_Arms?_

_"Jones!"_ Kent shouted. "You're alive! Your..." his voice died away.

"Oh no, no, no...Jones, Jones...oh god, oh my _God! God_!" Myerlink began screaming, heedless of Kent's curses.

Shocked, Zatanna saw that Jones wasn't quite alive as Kent had initially believed. Even though he could manageably walk and breathe...no, he clearly wasn't quite alive. Something else was though, which was apparently enjoying its time in Jones' body, for the moment anyway.

Some of the Tcho-Tchos giggled at the Americans' consternation, until one of them, an older man with a potbelly, who wore some kind of bright feathered leather cape over his shoulders, possibly their chief, gave an order. The chief gestured for Myerlink to be taken to the same hut where the thing once called Jones had come out of, but motioned for Kent to be taken somewhere else.

"NO!" Myerlink screamed, and began struggling as the Tcho-Tchos unlocked the bamboo cages and dragged the soldiers out. Kent shouted one last time.

"Use the cyanide! It's in your blouse pocket! The right one! Use it! Don't-"

A club smashed against Kent's temple and he went limp. They dragged him off, while the Tcho-Tchos grabbed a madly struggling Myerlink and pulled him/pushed him towards the darkened hut.

Zatanna had no wish to experience the horror awaiting the poor man. She struggled to break the spell, which would have ended with the man's physical death, but she didn't wish to share in his final moments. She had seen enough. She felt her body stir on the floor of the studio, but it felt so far away. She forced her hands, her real hands, to move, making the ritual gestures, feeling the rising dread and terror that Myerlink was now consumed by as he was inexorably dragged to his doom.

_Almost there._

Then she felt the chief's hand grasp Myerlink's shoulder, just before he was pulled into the hut. The chief's yellowish eyes gazed straight into hers, penetrating through Myerlink's and into her own, and somehow - even though it should _not_ have been possible at all - she knew that the man could see right through the man, through time and space itself, and see her. _Her_.

She felt herself freeze on the floor, the spell of resuming her body shockingly interrupted. She felt paralyzed, still trapped in Myerlink's dying body.

_No!_ Zatanna thought forcefully. _You cannot do this! ESAELER! _

The chief opened his mouth, revealing teeth filed to points. A dark cavernous mouth, which somehow seemed to grow larger and blacker, drawing Zatanna into it. There was something in it that wanted _her_. It threatened to swallow her.

In a last desperate gesture, Zatanna's body grasped at the smooth rock Batman had given her. Her psychic self flung the rock into the dark pit that was threatening to swallow her. The chief seemed to scream, but only in her mind, but it was horribly inhuman, and grew louder and louder.

_ESAELER EM!_

Zatanna's eyes flew open, feeling her body involuntarily spasm once again as her senses came crashing back to her, and she realized with a great relief that she was in her own body. Then she was seized with an uncontrollable shivering it took her a minute or two to get under control. She felt cold, even though it was still warm in the studio. Clutched in her hand was the charm of the indigenous villagers. Well, it had worked. No doubt they were right to have it.

Slowly she sat up, breathing deeply. The smoke had already dissipated, leaving only the light of the candles. There was no smell at all, anymore. When she felt she could stand up, she left the circle and picked up the stained blouse. She carefully checked the pocket, and felt a small bump. She shook out the pocket until a small pill the size of a Tylenol fell out. A cyanide tablet meant for suicide. So Myerlink was not able to get to it after all, poor man.

The silence was abruptly disturbed by a cheerful chiming of bells, startling Zatanna, until she realized with some embarrassment that it was only her cell phone. She saw who it was who was calling, and tapped the screen to answer.

"Zatanna," Batman's voice was curt and emotionless. "Were you able to meet your contact? What did you learn?"

"What did I learn?" Zatanna murmured. "What I learned was...is that something is very wrong with David Kent."

She shut the phone off, and sat in contemplation for the rest of the night.

_To be continued..._

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**[A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading Zatanna! Next chapter will be Clark and Diana finally meeting with his uncle...what will that be like? How did David Kent escape from the Tcho-Tcho and what happened to him? What plans does the Army have? What will Bruce make of this information gleaned by Zatanna? Tune in next time and find out! And as always, please review!**

**All characters owned by DC except the Tcho-Tcho, who was an invention of August Derleth, a follower of Lovecraft, who also mentioned them in "The Shadow out of Time" (if you want spoilers read that story!). For a great story on the Tcho-Tcho check out "Black Man with a Horn" by T.E.D. Klein, considered a classic of the Mythos canon. Read it at night with one light on - it is a genuinely frightening story!]**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Orange County, California_

_Two Days Later…_

For the umpteenth time in the past week Diana Kent, wife of Clark Kent, vacuumed the carpet, dusted the furniture, washed the bed-sheets, bought and stored the groceries, and finished a dozen other mundane yet necessary housecleaning and upkeep tasks as was required of a new house on 5 or so acres of land, including a guest cottage, which also required its share of cleaning and touching up and decorating, in preparation for its new resident.

All these chores were in addition to overseeing the welfare of the toddler Jon Kent: feeding him, bathing him, playing and reading to him, and watching him nearly constantly in order to make sure he didn't shove anything in his mouth that wasn't food. Also, soothing him whenever he was fidgety, which seemed to be fairly constantly in the past several days.

In between the housecleaning and childrearing there were the obligatory tasks that had nothing to do with the care of house and offspring: her work with the Justice League, which included taking down a terrorist gang up to mischief in southern Africa, evacuating half the population of Iceland when one of their volcanoes decided to blow its top, and assisting Batman and the Gotham City PD in eliminating a violent B&E crew. That was also all during in the past week.

Diana had heard it said that new mothers were often tired (and typically stayed that way until their offspring left for college). She had scoffed at this, but now she could genuinely believe she was, in fact, tired. Hera knew it was true. She didn't even feel she had the energy to pick up her _xiphos_ and shield and train for the five hours a day (at the least), as an Amazon warrior should. These days she hardly even felt like an Amazon warrior, more like Donna Reed. If someone had told her when she was eighteen that she would be spending more of her time in "wifely" rather than martial work, she would have beaten that person senseless for a lying cur. Now, when Hal Jordan jokingly referred to her as an "OC housewife" she felt she didn't even have the strength to throw a boulder at him, as he richly deserved.

If it was any consolation, she thought that Clark was almost as tired as she was. Not only was he extremely busy with his League responsibilities too, but he was also fretting over the imminent arrival of his uncle, which for unexplained reasons the Army had delayed repeatedly with no explanation. One result of this was that Clark had developed – to Diana's mind – something of an obsession with how their house looked. He had arranged and re-arranged the furniture and the décor half a dozen times, and wanted it spotless from top to bottom. Diana had tried to accommodate his wishes, but he was becoming so uptight about it that they actually had started getting snappish with one another.

The breaking point had come when he'd complained to her when she was seeing to the bath again. Being on her hands and knees before a man, and being lectured about tidiness had not exactly mollified her already-fraying nerves.

"Damn it, man!" Diana had finally flung her wet sponge at her husband's face. "If you don't like how the bathroom looks, then you clean it yourself! I'm not your bloody maid!"

"Diana..what the hell!?" Clark grumbled as he warded the sponge away from his head. "What's your problem?"

She got to her feet. "My _problem_ is that you are making me crazy, and yourself too, with all this...this fussing! There is nothing more to be done! Just what do you think you are trying to accomplish?"

"What I am trying to do," Clark said tightly. "What I am trying to do is to make our home _presentable_."

"It's 'presentable' _now_. What more do you want?"

Clark just stared at her as if she were exceptionally cognitively challenged. "Are you kidding me? Everything looks like we just moved in! And what's with those things in the guest house?"

"We _did_ just move in, or have you forgotten? And what's wrong with what I did with the cottage? And those 'things' as you put it are antiques, or did you forget that too?"

"Just who do you think's moving in? Ellen Lane? Or that nutty professor friend of yours? Do you think it's a good idea to have half a dozen Grecian vases all over the place? With those kind of pictures on them?"

In another room, Jon began a plaintive wail, which both of his parents ignored as they argued with each other.

"Julia is one of the greatest archaeologists of our time! And there's nothing wrong with what's on them. I can't help it if you're a prude. They're only in one corner anyway. As I recall it was _you_ who thought they were a good idea to put them in there, didn't you say you didn't want Jon to break them?"

But Clark was on a roll, it seemed. "I meant you to put them in storage in the closet! What's with those drapes in there too? This isn't swinging London, how about we move out of the Sixties?"

"Do you want the cottage to look like an army barracks? There's nothing wrong with how it looks! If he doesn't like it he can tell us after he's moved in!"

He wouldn't let up. "Why wait, if we can make it better, do more? We could..."

At that 'more' Diana was finally fed up.

"Clark, I've done all I've can, I'm sorry it doesn't look exactly like your house in Smallville, but I'm not your mother!"

"Yeah, that's obvious," Clark muttered before he could catch himself. It was too late - Diana heard it through Jon's earsplitting cries.

Diana froze and glared at him. "Just what is that supposed to mean?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

"I meant…it doesn't mean anything! Just _what_ is wrong with you?" Clark threw up his arms, as if she was behaving ridiculously.

"Now something is wrong with _me_!" Diana stormed out of the bathroom. "Thank _you_!"

"Where the hell are you going? Jon's crying!" Clark yelled after her.

"_You_ take care of him! He's _your_ son!"

Diana had stormed out into the backyard leaving her husband and her screeching male offspring behind, not stopping until she reached a small boulder sticking half-buried in the ground (there were many scattered over the hillsides). The house was just a pinprick behind her, and she couldn't hear anything. Blessed silence, praise the (indifferent-as-always) Gods. She sat down, compelling her temper to subside. She supposed if this were a _Lifetime_ movie-of-the-week, this was when she would light up a ciggy. But she didn't smoke, thank Hera she hadn't adopted that particular vice of Man's World. Actually, she didn't think any of her friends smoked. Lois used to, but she'd been nicotine-free for over a year. No one in the Justice League did either (she assumed), except for Constantine, but he really wasn't...

The thought of Constantine suddenly sobered her. That poor man, she thought, even though she never really knew him. All she really knew of him was that he'd mucked about in magickal stuff, and maybe a bit too much. Then that made her think of Batman, who'd suddenly taken an interest in his case, which was surprising since he'd never given Constantine the time of day before. He'd supposedly been spending time with Zatanna over it (Diana had her sources – Dinah, who got all the gossip on the men from Oliver). Once again, she wondered how much he had changed since Themyscira. But perhaps he thought there was something there...

Diana knew that Batman had tried to get Clark to pull out of the whole thing with his uncle, which had not set very well with him (and would be one reason for his tense mood). She had heard her husband arguing with him over the laptop videoconference.

"I can't back out now, Bruce, I told them I would agree to it."

"Clark, I really think you ought to reconsider having David Kent there," Bruce pressed relentlessly. "You should listen to what Zatanna has to say, she went to Asia-"

"Zatanna!" Clark shook his head. "I told you I've already spoken to her. So she had some kind of vision of the past. She didn't tell me anything to make me change my mind. I think she knows just as much as the Army does."

"Did she tell you about the Tcho-Tcho? Did she tell you about what they did to the members of his team? These weren't your garden-variety indigenous peoples rebelling against the colonialist invaders. They were involved in dark, dangerous things we don't know completely yet." Batman sounded frustrated.

"So why not ask them?"

"'Ask them!'" Bruce's voice was heavy on derision. "If that was possible, if we could find one. Did Zatanna tell you that after Kent's team disappeared, airstrikes were called in around that area? She doesn't know if there are any Tcho-Tcho around anymore, if there are, they've gone deep underground, perhaps mixed with other populations..."

"Yes, she did tell me, and I'm telling you, she didn't say anything that would make me change my mind," Diana heard the stubborn intransigence in Clark's voice, which she imagined came from both his Kryptonian and Midwestern American heritage. Which was stronger was hard to tell.

"Even if David Kent was tortured by these…these people then how does that make him a threat to us? He's an ordinary human, that's all. He needs counseling and our support, not our fear or suspicion. If something's wrong with him I'll know it right away. The Army would have found something. I doubt they would just turn him out into the population if he was a danger, or contagious or something."

"Clark, I told you, this isn't just the Army this is A.R.G.U.S.," Bruce's own rigid obduracy was starting to show in his voice, Diana could tell. Clark and Bruce could almost be brothers in this. "I doubt if they care if one or two innocent civilians get harmed, as long as they can continue their experiment! That's what I think this is."

"You have no proof of that. Anyway, my mind is made up. David Kent's arriving tomorrow. I know you mean well, Bruce, but this is about my family."

"David Kent isn't your family," Bruce replied bluntly. "He was your stepfather's family."

Bruce, you idiot, Diana thought, that was the wrong thing to say. Perhaps Bruce even knew it. But it was too late, that remark had gotten Clark's hackles up. She could practically sense her husband stiffen.

"I know what's best for my family," she could hear the rigid anger now in his voice. "If you're that worried, then you can see him for yourself, after 2pm. That's when he's arriving. He's staying here and that's that."

That was yesterday, and then that General Lane called, apologizing and saying that they had had to delay the release until tomorrow. No, he was sorry he couldn't give a reason for the delay, but that it was only "a minor administrative error."

Clark didn't vent his irritation or frustration (he saved that for his wife, she guessed) to the general, but she could tell he was upset. So, they were left waiting in limbo, Clark uncharacteristically brooding and annoyed with Bruce, and Diana...well, annoyed with both of them, and even with this David Kent, an unknown who hadn't done anything to deserve it. Men!

Diana wanted to know more about Batman's concerns, and she had wanted to talk to Zatanna herself personally, but there hadn't been time. Plus, somehow she knew that it wouldn't sway Clark's mind an iota. He had made his decision. Despite her annoyance, she would respect that. She was, after all, his wife and partner. Nothing would change that. She had entered into this partnership willingly, under no compulsion, as she had so often insisted to her mother.

Diana clasped her elbows, her mouth curling into a slight frown. Yes, she was a wife and mother, meaning her fate was inextricably yoked to another's. She had never thought being 'yoked' to Clark would be a burden, yet it wasn't exactly of constant light weight either, was it. She hadn't expected it to be such, yet when it became heavy, she still thrashed. Would it always be so? Her temper had gotten the better of her, again, back there. Maybe Clark was right, she should talk to somebody. But who?

Diana felt him approach from behind. She supposed that at this point in the _Lifetime_ movie this was the scene where she would stub out her cigarette. Instead she just waited for him.

"Diana?" His voice was cautious. "I got Jon settled. Are you okay?"

"Of course I am, Clark," Diana replied. "I'm just putting out my cigarette."

"What?"

"Just a joke," she turned and looked at him. He was floating just inches above the ground, looking rather befuddled. "You shouldn't do that anymore, at least for awhile."

"What? Oh...yeah...right," He came back to earth, scratching the back of his head. A very Clark-Kent gesture, she thought. "Diana, about back there..."

"I've been thinking, Clark," Diana said quickly, and she saw his expression turn to one of anxiousness. What did he think she would say? _I think it's time we saw other people? _Maybe he was the one watching those crappy cable movies. "I think...I should do what you advised. Maybe I...I should talk to someone."

"Oh, that's good," Clark looked visibly relieved. "Diana, I'm sorry I've been so, um, distracted lately. We've been so busy, we haven't had any time together. Once David's settled, able to live on his own, I promise I'll make it up to you..."

"There's nothing to make up," Diana reached out and grasped his hand, squeezed it tightly. "I am always your right arm in all things, never doubt that."

Clark smiled, and she thought he looked much as he used to. "I was thinking," he began shyly. "I mean...maybe we could make another baby?"

That question came from so far outfield that Diana couldn't help but laugh. "You truly mean to have me settled down, you do!"

Clark looked abashed. "Only if you're ready! Or if you don't think it's time, or don't really-"

"Clark," Diana said firmly. "I want to have more children, with you. I will have as many children as you care to sire on me," Diana looked at the setting sun, going down over the rocky hills. "If we can, that is."

He gently put his arm around her shoulders. "You think Jon might have been...we were just lucky?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "It's not like I've tried to prevent it. I don't know, but I hope not."

"Even if Jon is our only one," Clark said reassuringly. "That will be all right."

"Mmm," Diana looked at her husband. The soft evening wind ruffled his dark hair, and the lines of tensions that had been there all week were gone now. She stretched her neck and kissed him delicately, on his mouth. He tasted of the sunlight, and much more. "In any event, I will hold you to your promise."

_To be continued..._

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**[A/N: It felt wrong to leave the weekend without at least one Clark and Diana episode! Next chapter: David Kent finally arrives at the new Kent farm.**

**As always, your reviews are welcome!]**


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Orange County, California_

"...And the boy turned the key in the door and the dragon was sealed behind the wall, forever. The land was saved. And for the rest of the boy's life, he and his village were at peace."

Diana turned the last page of the book, holding it upright so that Jon, sitting on her knee, could see the brightly colored illustrations. Her son laughed and grabbed happily at the book, but she held it firmly, knowing he would just want to mouth the spine and tear the pages.

"Did you like the story, Jon?" Diana pressed her cheek against his, feeling its smooth baby softness. "I know you are just like the boy who fought the dragon. I know you will grow up to be just like your father, brave and strong and kind. Can you say 'dada,' Jon? Just for me? For mama?"

Jon opened his mouth, but the stream of childish babble that came out didn't exactly sound like 'dada' or 'mama' or anything close to it, unless it was in some language unknown to Diana's ears. It was certainly not Kryptonian, which she was now fluent in. She sighed and set aside the children's book, letting Jon bounce and babble on her knee. The information she'd gleaned from the stack of baby books she'd purchased months ago all proclaimed confidently that babies would begin speaking by at least 12 months old, but Jon still hadn't made any recognizable words, nor did it seem like he was even trying to talk. He just seemed content to gabble in his baby-speech. Clark was not very worried about it, but it still bothered Diana.

_Are we not giving him enough attention? Am I not spending enough time with him? _Diana couldn't help but wonder. _Is it that we are away too much? _ She tried to be with Jon as much as possible, but sometimes it was difficult, what with her new Amazon project and the demands of the Justice League. Clark was in the same situation, with his new job (if it could even be properly called a job it wasn't like Lois was providing him a steady paycheck) and his own duties. Not to mention a dozen other responsibilities. She remembered, back when they were single, it had had been just as difficult to have any time to one's self. But being married hadn't exactly increased their together time either, come to think of it. Now, more than ever, with a child in their lives the line between their 'superhero' lives and their private family life grew quite blurry. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, finding the balance between the two, they had learned. Diana fretted that Jon might get overlooked in their ongoing struggle to find a place in this world.

And now with this mysterious relative coming to stay...Diana fully supported Clark in whatever he wanted to do, but privately she wondered if this really was a good idea, if maybe Batman really did have a point. David Kent was still technically the property of Uncle Sam and would stay that way, perhaps forever, given whatever had altered his aging process and what had done _that_ was still an unknown, whatever Batman and Zatanna believed. Diana wasn't sure what to think about all that.

One thing was for certain, though: As long as David Kent stayed with them, he - and their home - would be watched constantly, despite what the Army said. Previously, several military men had come to the house to ensure that the place ensured a modicum of 'safety' for Sergeant Kent. The idea that strangers would tramp all over their home, scrutinizing it, had bothered Diana more than Clark.

"It's a requirement of his stay," Clark had explained to a not-quite-convinced Diana. "But it's just a formality."

"You know they're just going to plant listening devices," Diana had said pointedly. "Some kind of surveillance right in our home!"

"You're starting to sound like Batman!"

Then, after that delightful observation, the Army specialists had arrived; Clark had showed them around the place, while Diana trailed behind, feeling disconcerted at so many strangers in the house..._her_ house. True, they didn't have the appearance of grim special operators and they didn't show up brandishing guns and Kevlar body-armor, but it was jarring nonetheless. She couldn't exactly put her finger on what was bothering her, only that she was really beginning to have an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. Half of her wanted to just yell out to Clark to call off the whole thing, and the other half urged restraint, that it would be disrespectful to him to argue with him now.

Some of her discomfort must have communicated itself, since the only civilian in the visiting group walked over to her. She was a small, petite woman with dusky Asian, or Malaysian, features and black hair pulled back in a bun. For some reasons she had also lagged behind while the military men and Clark walked and talked. Maybe it was because she was also the only other woman in the group.

"I'm sorry, I know this all must seem rather intrusive," she said apologetically. Her voice was American, but with a faint accent Diana couldn't place. "I hope it won't put you out too much."

"What? Oh, no, I'm fine," Diana replied quickly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at being read so easily. "It's just...we just moved in and we haven't even had any guests over yet. This is the most people we've had in the house so far."

The young woman looked around appreciatively. "Well, it does look like a wonderful place your family has here. Oh, I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself yet: I'm Dr. Djaktu-Klein, I'm a clinical social worker with the U.S. Army's Critical Counseling Response Team: the CCRT. I'll be assisting in David Kent's recovery."

"Diana Kent, pleased to meet you," She shook with her free hand, the other one was holding Jon, who clung tightly to his mother during the entire ordeal and refused to look at anyone. A thought occurred to her: "Do...do you mean David does need a long recovery? Is he...injured in some way?"

Dr. Djaktu-Klein smiled reassuringly. "Physically, despite his...unexplained symptoms, he is actually very healthy. It is the mental condition we are concerned about. But we have made great advances in the treatment of post-traumatic stress and other mental injuries in soldiers. Part of the recovery process is to give soldiers a safe and welcoming place to recuperate. This certainly looks like such a place. We're very lucky you and your husband are able and willing to help."

_Now I have even more questions,_ Diana thought. But perhaps this young woman wasn't at liberty to discuss Kent's case in detail. They spent another few minutes making small talk about the weather and the local community, until Clark and the soldiers returned from outside.

The senior officer, a bluff and hearty-sounding African-American man, nodded to the lithe civilian then addressed both Kents in a loud and confident voice. "The house looks great, doc! Everything checks out. Great location, and that guest cottage is really nice, that's a real outstanding job of restoration, Mr. Kent!"

"Um, thank you, I worked hard on it," Clark reached to awkwardly scratch the back of his head, but then stopped when he saw Diana looking at him.

"I'll inform General Lane as soon as we return, and you can expect a call from him very soon to set up the arrival time."

"Why didn't he come himself?" Diana demanded, before Clark could say anything. But the military team didn't seem bothered by the pointed question.

"Oh, the General's a very busy man, you can bet on that, ma'am! But don't worry, this case has his personal attention. Everything should be smooth sailing from here on out."

"That's what you people said last week, and the week before that," Diana pointed out. The man seemed to actually look at her, for the first time since they'd arrived.

"This is a, ah, very unusual situation, as I'm sure your husband has told you everything," (Diana stiffened at that) "If we've had to 'delay' Sergeant Kent's discharge, we have good reason to, but it's not a matter for alarm, ma'am, it's only for his well-being, I hope you understand that."

"We do understand," Clark said quickly. "We just want what's best for my uncle."

That had been that, more or less: after filling out some more "necessary" paperwork, the soldiers and Dr. Djaktu-Klein had left, leaving Clark and Diana alone.

"Why do I feel like we just signed away our lives?" Diana had muttered.

"It's just waivers, in case we decide to sue the government for...whatever," Clark said patiently. "What's really surprising is...they didn't leave any monitoring devices."

Diana looked at him. "You're sure?"

"I checked everywhere, I would have noticed the heat or audio signature. They didn't leave anything, at least on this visit."

"You don't sound very happy about that," Diana looked towards the faint cloud of dust still left in the air by the soldiers' departing vehicle. She wished she could have spent longer talking to the little doctor, she had sensed there was more she could have told her. If only there had been some way to use the lasso!

"I'm just...puzzled, I guess. It wouldn't have been difficult for them, if they really think we're just civilians," Clark finally scratched the back of his head, a gesture that Diana knew by now meant that he was genuinely confused, and one that irked her for some unexplainable reason.

The whole episode was just one of many things like that that made Diana uneasy about the whole thing, but it was too late to back out now. That had been yesterday, and David Kent was arriving today, for certain this time. She and Clark were sitting outside on the half-finished porch, awaiting the military convoy that would bring him to their new farm. It was still morning, and it was still warm but slightly overcast. The benefit of the location that it was quiet, and the closest neighbors were half a mile away, who were cordial but minded their own business - they had moved her for the privacy too.

Jon had been fussing from the moment he'd woken up, but the children's book had quieted him down somewhat. She plucked him off her lap and put him down on the ground at her feet; he then half-crawled half-toddled over to some of his toys on the grass. Watching him she also wondered if he should be walking more by now. She glanced at Clark, but he was distracted, texting someone furiously on his smartphone. From the irritated look on his face she guessed who he was texting.

"What does the 'old woman' want now?" By now 'old woman' had become her code word for Batman.

"He wants another 'emergency meeting' at the Watchtower! I just told him we're kind of busy today."

"What about?"

"What do you think? He still doesn't want us involved in this." Clark put the phone away. "Well I gave him the same answer. Anyway, if there really _is_ something wrong...I told him we could handle it better than the military."

_We hope_, Diana thought. But instead she said. "Are they really on their way this time?"

"I heard the convoy leave the airport. They should be here in half an hour, since there's traffic. General Lane is with them."

"What are they saying?"

"They're not saying much, I just hear the soldiers talking. Strangely...I don't hear my uncle talking at all, I still haven't heard his voice, this whole time," Clark sighed. "I really hope he's okay."

Clark's eyes drifted over to his son, now fully preoccupied by his Tinkertoys and Diana could see the irritation disappear from his face, replaced by wonderment and happiness in his son. "How's my big guy, today?"

Usually that look of Clark's had the power to also dispel Diana's fears, but not today. "He still isn't talking and he barely walks. He should have done both by now."

"He's still just a baby. He's got plenty of time."

"I think it's way overdue, Clark, I think-"

"I know what you're really thinking, Diana," Clark interrupted.

"Oh, yes? And what am I thinking?" She replied irritably.

He playfully poked her in her ribs. "You just can't wait to train him to be your new sparring partner! One you can beat easily," he added, smugly.

Diana grabbed his hand and shoved it away from her. "At least _I_ am concerned about your son's welfare! Someone has to be! Why is it always in Man's World still that the burden of raising children falls always to the mother, if it weren't for mothers the human race would die out, they..."

Clark relaxed in his chair as Diana ranted on, he let her: at least it would distract her awhile from worrying about David Kent's arrival. Him too, from thinking about Batman's last message. He claimed to have found 'undeniable evidence' that A.R.G.U.S. knew more about Kent's circumstances than they let on, and also that Star Labs was now involved. Of course they would want to know the secret of his longevity.

"If Waller and her cronies think for a second that David Kent will divulge his secret to you," Bruce had said. "Then they won't hesitate to bring you and Diana in and force it out of you. They're allowing his stay at your place thinking that David Kent will tell you. That means that they believe Kent is not telling the whole truth to them."

"What do you think?"

Batman hadn't responded to that, at least not in the past minute. Clark occupied himself by watching Jon play as Diana went on about how in ancient societies fathers ignored their sons and passed off their parenting responsibilities to slaves, which ensured they grew up emotionally neglected. He had no idea how all this applied to them, but he had realized by now in their relationship that it was better to let Diana blow off steam sometimes than try to argue with her. He well knew she was not quite sold on the idea of David Kent staying with them, and also had her share of worries about Jon.

Clark had hoped that he would locate some teaching modules in the databanks in the Fortress, but none of what he had found was particularly helpful. Kryptonian children for millennia had been raised not by parents but lived in communal enclaves according to their caste, watched over by robots, a little bit like a British boarding-school. They only rarely saw their own parents, and only in a most formal sense. It was a mark of Jor-El and Lara's and vision and wisdom that they had even reached the decision to have their child naturally. When he had brought Jon to the Fortress he had hoped that Jor-El's hologram would appear, but so far it hadn't, and he couldn't determine if those processors were still intact. Perhaps it had exhausted its energy. He hoped not. What would Jor-El say about his grandson? Did he ever predict his son would have his own offspring, of Earth stock? Surely, he would have considered that possibility. His mind often turned on what his father would say about Jon.

That made him think about Jonathan and Martha. If only they could have seen Jon, too, he thought sadly. He knew that they would have been happy he had his own family now, it was what they had always hoped for, he knew. Now there was only David Kent left of the Kent family, as far as he knew, all of their other relatives had passed on. He felt he owed it to their memory to look after him too...

"Clark! Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, of course. We're almost up to the 20th century now, right?"

"Hera's teeth," Diana grumbled, shoving her chair back as Clark laughed. "Why do I even bother?" She strode over to Jon, pulled his hands away from the Tinkertoy wheel he was trying to shove into his mouth.

Clark sat up, as Diana pulled out a cloth and wiped Jon's hands and mouth. "What is it?"

"They're almost here," he said, standing up. He looked at her as he put on his glasses. "I guess this is it."

Diana stood up with Jon, and waited. Soon, dust swirling in the air signaled the approach of vehicles coming down the dirt road. Then, a fleet of three large passenger SUVs came in sight, identical, but without any marking identifying themselves as government vehicles. They pulled up, one after the other, in front of the house.

Clark felt his heartbeat racing, realizing he was excited to meet his uncle for the first time. He glanced at Diana, and noticed she looked just as curious, if slightly apprehensive. He reached out and squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back in reassurance.

The doors opened, and the first man out was General Lane, dressed in professional civilian clothes, like a business executive on a casual call. Diana had only seen before him on a TV screen, and from a distance. The knowledge that this man had once had her husband captured and tortured like a research animal incensed her, but of course she couldn't just walk over and punch him in the face. She struggled to put a pleasant expression on her face.

Sam Lane was surprised and impressed by the house and grounds; for some reason, he had expected something else from Kent, like a place that showed he was out of his depth in a rural area. Lois had told him that Clark Kent was raised on a farm but when he had shaken the man's hand in the past, he hadn't felt any calluses that a farm kid would typically have. This made Lane think maybe all the kid had done was sit in his parents' basement and smoke pot, whatever, instead of actually working. But this place looked like an actual farm, or could be.

The lady with the kid standing next to Clark also threw his prior image of Clark out of whack. He had been almost 100% positive the man was gay. She was surprisingly beautiful, tastefully dressed. She looked like she could have done much better than him, he thought. Weird how the world worked sometimes.

"General Lane," Clark walked up to him, and the general could sense his tenseness. It brought him back to the matter at hand. He shook Clark's outstretched hand.

"Good to see you again, Clark," Sam Lane said, trying to sound convincing. "Your uncle's here."

He glanced back to the second vehicle in the convoy, and the driver opened the passenger side door to let him out.

The man who stepped out made Clark almost tremble. He closely resembled Jonathan, only his hair was blonde and cut short, still in military fashion. He was also dressed in civilian clothes, a polo shirt and khaki slacks, sneakers. He blinked although the sun wasn't out. Both of his hands clutched a folder stuffed presumably with paperwork, which he held to his chest, almost like an inmate, Clark thought. How long had he been kept a POW, Clark wondered? David Kent looked around him curiously. When his eyes landed on Clark, they stared intently, as if examining every aspect of him. Clark noted that he looked like a man in his mid-to-late 40s, although he should have been an old man by now.

"Sergeant Kent?" Lane addressed him, and the man reacted instinctively to the voice of a commanding officer, although jerkily. "This is your nephew, Clark."

* * *

**[A/N: What happens next? Tune in next time? Your reviews, as always, are appreciated!]**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_The Watchtower, Earth Orbit_

In his private cubicle on the orbiting space station, quiet and fully equipped, insulated from the commotion of his colleagues, Batman strove to catch up on his research on the Kent case. Distractions were becoming a daily problem. Despite his efforts, research was something he hadn't had much time for lately. Instead, he had spent the best part of the past two days subduing a low-level auto theft crew in Gotham City. Despite their amateurishness, the thugs – none of them over 22 - had put up a surprisingly vicious fight when confronted, resulting in two seriously injured policemen and one or two bruises for him. It hadn't made any sense for such a punk gang to be so violent for such small stakes, but it seemed to be the trend these days. Criminals would kill and maim for a handful of change. Commissioner Gordon was not amused and neither was he. Lately, any kind of sense was undergoing a serious drought in Gotham, he thought sourly. Something needed to be done. But for the moment he put it out of his mind, there were other more pressing matters to deal with.

He pulled up the 3D screen, the glowing pixels floating in the air before his eyes. Two folders materialized. Ever since his manor home was compromised by A.R.G.U.S. (and how _that_ had happened still confounded him) he didn't quite trust the security even though he had completely rebuilt the system multiple times. The breach had not reoccurred. Waller was content to leave matters as they were, it seemed...and the less he thought of his colleagues who had traipsed – uninvited – through his house, the better for his blood pressure. He focused instead on what he had in front of him.

One of his online files was the Kent case. But the other was on Zatanna Zatara and her family. After a moment's thought he decided to review that one first.

No one passed through the roster of the Justice League without a full background report compiled by him personally, which contained more than the individuals scrutinized might prefer to be known to anyone else. It was all part of policy – _his_ policy. Of course Batman kept it all strictly confidential – to himself, just as he kept confidential his knowledge of each members' strengths…and weaknesses, in case such "information" should be needed. Zatanna was no exception.

It wasn't difficult to uncover her background since she was a public figure. Some of it was easily available to anyone with access to a computer and a link to Wikipedia: Her father, Giovanni Zatara, had been a relatively minor magician who had performed in the United States and Europe. He was originally from Palermo, Italy, and had immigrated to America in the 1960s. He had toured frequently throughout the country, performing his magic show in mostly small-to-medium venues. While not quite achieving the stardom of a David Copperfield or a Doug Henning, he had developed a devoted and loyal following and his shows were well-attended although he typically attracted an older crowd who were charmed by his Old World manners and accent.

In the 1980s Zatara had returned to Europe for unexplained reasons. In Turkey he met and married a woman named Sindella, also a performing magician. Bruce hadn't been able to uncover much detail on her, but he thought that the lack of surname suggested that Sindella was a stage name (it certainly didn't sound Turkish). He had also gleaned from various other sources that she was rumored to be an adept at Gypsy magic, or been part-Gypsy, or Romany as they were known, herself. That part wasn't on Wikipedia of course, but from Bruce's own sources. Whatever her real name might have been, her identity and background was still a mystery.

For a time Zatara and Sindella had traveled throughout the Continent performing together: Germany, France, Hungary, Austria, Spain. They were only married for a few years before Sindella died soon after giving birth to their only child, Zatanna. So, she had never known her mother, Bruce realized. Interesting fact, that.

Following the death of his wife, the elder Zatara had retired for a few years, or had otherwise disappeared from the public eye, but then returned to America and the stage, presumably to provide for his young daughter. Bruce had discovered many old advertisements for his shows, including some posters that now went for high prices on Ebay. Bruce noted that Zatara had decided not to resume the rounds of theaters and clubs and instead toured with circuses and the last of the traveling carnies, before the era of political correctness forever ended the lurid "freak shows." What must that have been like for him, Bruce wondered, caring for a young child and touring with bizarre (and very likely shady too) characters in remote, out-of-the-way areas? Why had he decided to do that? Zatanna certainly must have some interesting childhood memories, he thought. Zatanna had begun her performing career very early, noting several reviews that remarked on the presence of a precocious child assistant.

Eventually Giovanni Zatara retired from his peripatetic life and settled in San Francisco, although he still occasionally played local magic clubs, particularly the colorful Alighieri Club, until his death at age 65. Still a relatively young man.

Wikipedia didn't provide any details of his death, but some of the more sensational Web sites dedicated to stories of magic and magicians claimed that Zatara had died after a magic act had gone terribly wrong: there was a gruesome urban legend that he burned to death onstage in front of a horrified audience. But the truth was rather more prosaic: Zatara had had a heart attack during a routine rehearsal at the club and passed away backstage, in the presence of his daughter and the stagehands. The Alighieri Club still remembered him fondly: there was a special memorial within the Club itself, available for viewing only to private members. Zatanna had been a teenager at the time. Whatever she had felt about her father's passing she had kept to herself, although in interviews she always spoke of how much she learned from him. All accounts suggested that she and her father had been very close.

What also wasn't available on Wikipedia and the Internet was the fact that Zatara had more than once volunteered his help to police departments working with missing persons, mysterious homicides, and other unexplained matters of a "sensitive" nature. Meaning, an occult nature. In fact, Bruce had spoken to many old detectives (Commissioner Gordon was one) who had known that Zatara had done a hell of a lot more than read tea leaves. His assistance had been crucial to solving more than a few cases. Perhaps this had made him enemies, it was impossible to know at this stage, but it didn't seem to have hindered him.

Zatanna subsequently took up her father's profession, and with much more success: she'd received critical and popular acclaim as an "up-and-coming" young star whose "bizarre yet seductive blend of magic and burlesque" packed in the younger hipster crowds her father had never attracted. But Bruce knew that Zatanna also had a lighter act aimed at children, and had taken the time, more than once, to fit in a special performance for a children's hospital or orphanage - especially those financed by his charities. Her production staff was loyal and dedicated to her, and only a select few of them knew that she was the real thing.

Batman had known most of this beforehand. But there was something else about Zatara that had caused him to take a closer look at Zatanna's file, and it wasn't just the help she had also provided law enforcement, which had initially drawn her to his attention.

Maybe it was all the head shots he'd taken in his fun-filled life, but something about Zatanna had pricked at his mind, from the moment he'd met her, and he hadn't been able to put his finger on it. It had grown stronger ever since Themyscira. It had stayed at the back of his brain, evading his attempts to track it. Only when one of the gangsters managed a lucky shot to his temple, it had finally jogged his memory (he supposed he might owe that thug a debt of gratitude – but not really).

He remembered that he had once met Zatanna's father, Giovanni Zatara.

It must have been years ago, when he was a kid. It couldn't have been very long after his parents were murdered. At the time he was taking classes at the day orphanage; every second Thursday of the month the teachers would invite in clowns and storytellers, that type of things, to entertain the kids or do arts and crafts. Most of the time he was bored and uninterested in the activities, preferring to sit off in a corner by himself despite their attempts at encouragement.

But then one day there was a magic act. The staff always made sure the kids attended a "special event" whether they wanted to or not. He had been forced to sit up front, and prepared to sulk. A man in an old-fashioned top hat and tail-coat had appeared, who spoke funny. He was sure that it was all going to be stupid, and hated the guy already.

But soon, what he had seen had utterly captivated him. When he recalled it, the man had done really very simple tricks, but with such skill and ease that it soon had his entire attention, and the attention of the other kids, who also were enchanted. He remembered vivid colors, animals that appeared out of pockets and hats, and golden coins that materialized out of thin air. It had been really wonderful and Bruce remembered that he had almost smiled.

Bruce remembered a bit of what Zatara looked like. He was a tall, thin man, with a long handlebar mustache and dark beard, very Italian. He must have been middle-aged then, since he distinctly remembered gray at his temples. But what he remembered most of all was the man's eyes. He had had very sad eyes, deep-set, as if containing some painful memories. Bruce noticed it even then – he thought it was maybe because someone had told him what happened to his parents and that was why he'd looked so sad. After the show Zatara had taken the time to talk to each one of the children; he seemed to pay special attention to Bruce, maybe because of his withdrawn demeanor.

_"Did you like the show, young man?"_

_"Yes. Can I ask you a question?"_

_"Of course?"_

_"Do you know real magic?"_

_Zatara had given him a cryptic but gentle smile. "All my magic is real. If you believe in it, it is real."_

_"Can you teach me magic? I want to learn to use magic to fight. I don't like it here."_

_Zatara seemed to look at him differently then, as if seeing something else there._

_"You can use magic to learn many things. But to fight...I can show you something else instead. Something that may be more beneficial to you."_

Bruce remembered he had shown him how to escape from handcuffs, even gave him a special pair. Although it wasn't what he had asked for he thought it was a neat trick. But Zatara had said:

_"Know that whatever terrible circumstances you find yourself in, you have the means to deliver yourself. No one else can do that but you, young man."_

After he'd left, Bruce had practiced it for hours every day, until he could do it with ease. He'd even tried to practice on some of the other kids, until the teachers caught him and took them away. But by then he didn't need them anymore.

But what Bruce couldn't remember was whether Zatanna had been with him. She was performing with him then, and she was only one or two years younger than him. But try as he might, he simply couldn't recall if she was or not. He had a vague memory of a girl, but there had been girls at the day-orphanage too.

Of course, he could simply ask Zatanna herself if she remembered him, but she had never given him any indication she had ever met him before, and somehow it seemed foolish to ask her outright. But still it bothered him, although he couldn't exactly think why...except he didn't believe in coincidences.

Bruce compelled himself to re-focus, remember why he had pulled up Zatanna's file in the first place. Trips down memory lane could wait.

In a special room in his Batcave, Bruce kept a small amount of Kryptonite. He had obtained the substance from Superman himself, a fail-safe in case something, some malevolent force or other, should possess him or use him to evil purposes. He had similar items on other members of the League - either physical things or information. Bruce hadn't quite determined what Zatanna's weaknesses were, unless, of course, it was just stronger magic. Personally, he thought magic was just...

There was a rapping on his door. He ignored it.

"Batman? Are you in there?"

The rapping came again, louder. He continued to ignore it.

Zatanna passed through the closed door. With a display of irritation, Bruce shut down his screen. "What is it, Zatanna?"

"I need to talk to you."

"It can't wait until after the meeting?"

"No, you know it can't."

"Then what is it?" Bruce asked impatiently.

Zatanna stared at him. "Have you talked to Superman and Wonder Woman?"

"You know I haven't, not today. David Kent is arriving at their home, probably around now."

"Why couldn't you stop it?"

"Zatanna! They're adults, and they're capable of deciding if Kent is a danger or not. Besides, you haven't decisively proven to me without a doubt that there is something dangerous about that man."

"I told you what I found through the working-"

"You told me you had a vision of men captured by the Tcho-Tcho, but nothing else, not of what happened to Kent following his capture, or why he was being held for so long. It wasn't enough to convince Superman that he shouldn't host his uncle. Anyway, if there is something...wrong with him, then he's under his eye. Is that all?"

Zatanna bristled at his dismissive tone. Lately, it seemed that Batman was deliberately trying to antagonize her, or otherwise avoid her presence altogether. She wasn't yet sure whether it was because of who she was or what she was. He seemed to only tolerate her because of her unique "help." Constantine had always sneered that Batman would just use her and toss her aside like a Kleenex. Why did she put up with it?

Her father, perhaps.

"I've found out something else," Zatanna crossed her arms. "If you're interested, that is."

Bruce tried not to grit his teeth, and forced himself to be patient. "Of course. Tell me...please."

"Early missionaries and explorers to Indochina described the Tcho-Tcho as cannibals, who practiced religious rites distinct from their neighbors. They were shunned, although no one dared to try to fight them or wipe them out. Not even the colonial French, as long as they didn't interfere with their administration."

"Perhaps there were _homo magii_ among these old imperialists?"

"Yes. They knew about the Tcho-Tcho, some of them even tried to contact them, to learn their rites. Some of them didn't come back."

"But some did?"

Zatanna paused. "They came back _changed_. Their friends, their colleagues said they were never the same person. They were cold, distant, sometimes dangerous. They were obsessed with only one thing - accumulating knowledge."

"That sounds like half the businessmen I work with. Did they have anything else to impart?"

She frowned. "Some of them eventually recovered a bit of their original personality, but went mad. Others vanished all over again, never to be seen. The homo magii eventually determined to leave the Tcho-Tcho alone."

"There are no more Tcho-Tcho," Bruce said shortly. "The Japanese military attacked them, and the remaining villages were bombed by the Americans in the 70s."

"That's not quite true," Zatanna replied. "The Tcho-Tcho are still around, just not in their old tribal lands. They are scattered throughout the world, now."

"Then we wasted our time searching there," Batman murmured. Zatanna shook her head.

"No, not quite. If David Kent was in their lands, then there is a Tcho-Tcho nearby...and whatever it may be that the Tcho-Tcho worship. They would never leave without their gods...and I don't think some airstrike or whatever would have done the job."

Batman sat up straighter. "Then how?" he demanded sharply. "How do we investigate this?"

Zatanna regarded him cooly. "You don't trust me, do you...Bruce?"

Narrowed eyes through his cowl glared at her. "What?"

"I know when someone is checking up on me. You've been sticking that pointy nose of yours in my business. If you want to know anything about me," Zatanna smiled. "All you have to do is ask me, nicely."

"I don't think so," Batman stood up abruptly, his cape swirling about him. "If you have anything more to add, you can do it at the meeting."

"Your meetings are a waste of time!" Zatanna insisted. "Now that David Kent is back in America, the danger is now right on our doorstep."

He brushed past her. "Bring me something concrete, Zatanna. Something we can go off of. Until then, I have a Justice League to run!"

He was out the door before she could say anything. _Very well_, she thought darkly. _If you want evidence, I'll get it for you, and you'll likely be sorry for it!_

* * *

**[A/N: Slight diversion with a Batman/Zatanna-centric chapter? I've diverted a bit from the recent 'retcon' or whatever they call of it, of Zatanna's background, for my own non-profit-making purposes of course! Anyway...Will they be able to uncover the mystery of David Kent? Will they be able to work together, or continue to regard each other with suspicion? Does Zatanna remember Bruce? What's her motive in all this? Will they...well you know what! A bit shorter chapter since school has started up again. Thanks for continuing to read and as always, please review!]**


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Orange County, California_

General Sam Lane watched intently, as did his team, as Sergeant David Kent approached the nephew he had never met. Lane felt extremely uncomfortable at having this reunion occur outside the secure confines of a military base, even if this was a rural area with no nosy neighbors. But Clark Kent had absolutely refused to have the reunion there…no doubt because of his anti-military liberal biases, Lane thought with irritation. However, it had been one of the concessions he had had to make to have this reunion happen at all, and it was important that it did happen. Waller had been very insistent on that fact, so he'd had no choice but to agree. Waller had also been responsible for attaching Dr. Djaktu-Klein to his team, which also pissed him off since he had not been consulted first. However, she'd been a capable enough clinician, and had quickly cleared Kent for placement with his nephew. But it was just another indication that he and Waller were destined to butt heads.

But they both had the same objective: that this transition would be without problems. Sergeant Kent had "stabilized" enough to be released, according to the social worker, but Lane wasn't quite convinced, having seen what he was first like when he was returned to American custody. Christ, the man hadn't even been able talk coherently, didn't know who he was, babbling in some crazy language no one understood. He had tried to escape several times, very nearly succeeding. Conveniently, he'd decided not to mention any of that stuff to Clark, the less he knew of that the better.

Lane sharply glanced at Clark and his wife. He looked curious, as well nervous and excited, as he should be. This was his only family left...well, apart from his wife, and the kid she was holding tightly to her, somewhat overprotectively, in his opinion. Diana Kent (he remembered the name was) stood behind her husband, looking definitely more apprehensive than excited. In fact, she didn't really look excited at all, just wary and doubtful. She hadn't said much at all since they'd arrived. This was the first time he'd seen her in person; his soldiers who had inspected the property reported that she seemed resistant at having Sergeant Kent stay at their home, but apparently had acquiesced. Dr. Djaktu-Klein hadn't mentioned Mrs. Kent specifically in her report, other than she appeared to be "initially supportive."

Lane wondered just how long that would last. She looked like the type - and he knew it well - who would cause a problem if she could. He remembered that his background report on the Kents also described her as a Greek immigrant. He guessed as much - no doubt Kent had gotten himself mixed up in one of those contract marriages, in his younger days this Diana would have been called a "mail-order bride" although it was all online now. Lane would bet his next paycheck that she had suckered Kent into marrying her just for a Green Card, and once she had gotten that, it would be _adios _sucker and make sure the alimony check's in the mail. Lane believed she would ditch Kent once that happened. He couldn't imagine what a good-looking woman like her would see in a wimpy guy like him. To the point, though, Lane wondered if she actually would become a problem later on. If so...he would have to think of something to do about her. Kent he was sure he could handle.

David Kent approached Clark slowly, looking at him steadily up and down as if taking his measure. For a moment he just stood and stared at the younger man and it seemed like a long time, although it was only for a moment. Clark noted that the soldiers seemed to hold their breath.

David finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. "You Jonathan's boy?"

The man's voice was pure Kansas, a somewhat deeper drawl than his father's, but still evoking memories of the old man. Clark had to take a moment to gather himself before replying.

"Yes, sir. I'm Clark Kent."

"Don't call me 'sir', boy, I work for a living."

Relieved laughter among the soldiers at the old military joke. Diana noticed that while the general also joined in – just a little – it seemed forced. All the soldiers looked very tense. David Kent merely looked around the group, the corners of his mouth twitching a bit.

_As if he's forgotten how to laugh, _Diana thought. She'd been watching the man just as intensely as anyone else, looking for something...she didn't know what. _He must have been a captive for a long time. _It was also as if he was learning to do that once again. She wondered again just what had happened to him.

_If I can use the Lasso on him, maybe I'll know, it might even help him...if I can get Clark to agree to it..._

"I'm glad to meet you, Uncle David," Clark said, in a voice as warm and welcoming as he could make it. He really wanted to step forward and embrace the older man, but he'd been advised by Dr. Djaktu-Klein that it would be too premature at this stage, he was still sensitive to physical contact, and that it could be a "trigger" to bad memories, a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Also something about the man suggested that he was not the hugging type either. "You're welcome at my house."

He extended his hand, however. The other Kent took it, though, without hesitation. Clark felt a firm grip, but a normal not one that tried to dominate him, the way Lane had first shaken his hand. Kent dropped his hand after a moment.

"Huh. I don't s'pose your pa told you much about me," David made a sound between a grunt and a laugh, it was odd-sounding. "Not that I blame him. Well, then…"

He looked Clark up and down again, in a way that made Diana slightly uneasy, as if he was sizing him up. "You don't much look like Johnny. Martha…well, maybe a little, 'round the eyes."

Clark turned to his wife. "This is my wife, Diana, and my little boy, Jon."

David's eyes turned to her, narrowing just slightly as he stared at her just as intently as he had Clark. Diana tried not to show her unease at being stared at – a memory suddenly jumped into her mind, of years ago, when Steve Trevor had first brought her to Man's World: their boat had been picked up by a passing ship, a Navy destroyer. The sailors hadn't been able to keep their eyes off her. They weren't really being rude, it was just their curiosity, or their fear of a potential threat. At first it had been uncomfortable, even frightening (though she never dared to admit it) to be so scrutinized by men, but then she had gotten used to it. David Kent wasn't ogling her, no nothing like that, but his gaze seemed to penetrate her all the same, as if he was calculating something in his mind...

Then she remembered where she was, and forced herself to speak casually. "I'm…happy you are home with us...David. We're glad you're home."

David Kent's expression didn't change at all. "You some kind of foreigner?"

There was evidently nothing wrong with his hearing, he had picked up on her noticeable accent; Clark glanced at her nervously. He knew Diana's vaguely Greek-sounding accent only came out when she was angry…or alarmed. What was wrong with her? But when Diana spoke again her voice was calm and soothing.

"I am from Greece, originally. I've lived here, with my husband, for some time now. I'm very happy here," Diana paused only a second, and then smiled, genuinely. "I hope you will be happy with us too."

For a moment it seemed that David would just stand there and stare. Then, he smiled back.

"I'm sure I will be, ma'am...you sure know how to make a man feel welcome!"

General Lane's booming voice abruptly rang out then, relief clearly in his voice. "Outstanding! Well, there's only a few more things for us to do here, a few more papers to sign, then we'll release Sergeant Kent into your custody, Clark."

"'Custody?'" Diana was puzzled. She glanced at her husband. "But I thought-"

"Uncle David will be fine here, sir," Clark nodded eagerly. As soon as the soldiers were on the way he'd feel better. He had a feeling that David would too. "We'll take care of everything here."

But General Lane was not to be rushed, it seemed. Once again, Diana watched uncomfortably as he and the others walked into her house. She noted how Clark opened the door for his uncle. There was a moment's hesitation as he stood at the threshold, as if not knowing how to cross it, then he followed him into the house.

Diana hesitated outside. Unconsciously, she had started gently rocking Jon in his arms; he had started fussing again,crinkling up his face and whimpering. She could see them through the glass patio doors. General Lane was standing there in her house (like he owned it), saying something intently to her husband. She didn't like how the man always talked like he was giving orders to some underling of his. His soldiers occupied himself with arranging papers for Clark to sign and bringing in his few personal belongings: a duffel bag, a medical kit, some bagged lunches and bottled waters.

David Kent himself seemed unconcerned about the whole thing, and looked more interested in the house than in the arrangements going on around him. Then his head turned, and he saw Diana watching him through the doors.

For a moment he looked at her. His face was blank, emotionless, like the military mug shots of him. Then, he winked at her.

She felt the prickling of hairs rise on the back of her neck, as they sometimes did before battle, but she couldn't understand why it did so, here, and now. In the next moment, David had turned his gaze away and was listening to something the general was telling him.

All her life Diana had been trained, by the best Amazon warriors, to trust her instincts and listen to them. It was unmistakable what they were telling her right now: _danger_. But surely there was nothing to be worried about, Clark would have surely sensed immediately if something was wrong, either with his uncle, or from the military men. They had their own nonverbal signals to communicate with each other if either sensed trouble. But he hadn't done anything.

Jon was crying by now, and no wonder, since he'd been up since 5am. Diana couldn't concentrate on thinking about this until he'd been settled down. Suddenly, she felt the last thing she wanted to do was to go inside her own home...but this was foolishness: this was just jitters, typical _normal_ family matters, which she still needed to get used to, as a permanent resident of Man's World. There was nothing to fear here, either from Lane or anything else.

Taking a deep breath, Diana joined her husband, and her new uncle-in-law, inside the house.

_To be continued..._

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**[A/N: Is Diana right to trust her instincts? Or is she making a fuss over nothing? The mystery of David Kent will deepen, but will others learn first? Tune in next week (or the next) to find out! School takes precedence, but I will try to update as quick as I can! Your reviews may make me go faster ;)**

**PS: Who has seen the new TV show "Gotham?" Opinions?]**


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